


Way, Way Past Afternoon Delight

by starfirefighter



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Chan's a soft boy with horny thoughts, Dinosaur Chicken Nuggets, Dry Humping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Insecurities, Like a very literal praise kink, Love Confessions, M/M, Mingyu's a soft boy but is kind of a tease, Praise Kink, Self-Indulgent, Smut, The Author Regrets Everything, Wall Sex, every time a fluff bubble forms i pop it with dino's dinosaur, hands are collectively known as punishment palms, one ejaculation has about 3.15 percent the amount of protein in one serving of dino nuggets, stream Dino's Danceologies, the ChanGyu disaster fic of 2020, the lack of ChanGyu fics is a hate crime, the more you know, thigh humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfirefighter/pseuds/starfirefighter
Summary: When Chan is left alone to stew in his own self-deprecating thoughts about the fate of his Danceology series, who better to save the dish than Seventeen's resident cook?orThe fic where Chan and Mingyu have dinosaur chicken nuggets as a midnight snack then have each other for dessert.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	Way, Way Past Afternoon Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations to me for authoring the longest solo ChanGyu fic! ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ Though, being the author of this disaster is probably nothing to be proud of...
> 
> This really spiraled out of control... I-I don't know how it came to this, but I proudly present to you all: my sins.
> 
> Before you read, kindly watch ALL of Dino's Danceologies [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLk_UmMfvZDx1-SxMVbDGIT78Ct8ae-y3f) to gain some context for the fic.
> 
> NOTE: I also have no knowledge or background on dancing, so I might be greatly misinformed in my detailing. Also, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind with me. (；′⌒`) If it's really horrible, please comment down below and I'll gladly delete this. Thank you, and happy sinning! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

At 1 AM, after the ass-crack of midnight, between his fourth bottle of makgeolli and the ungodly sight of Mt. Doomsdishes, Chan decides that the nights before a Danceology officially drops are the worst nights of his life.

Imagining the concept, planning out the logistics, choreographing the steps – those are the nights he rejoices in, laying out fanciful ideas and laving at the dedication-induced sweats that remind him of the inbred passion welling within him, bursting at the seams. These things came naturally and, equipped with a childhood (and lifetime) worth of dancing experience in his Chanman utility belt, he can conclude with absolute certainty that he was born to show off his talent.

Danceology began with a straightforward idea in mind: to show Carats where he is as a performer. It’s an evolutionary tale and, as such, he started off with his roots. Power, rhythm, flow. Chan wanted to flaunt it all. On a never-ending train ride to destination ‘Success,’ piecing together the tracks came around uncharacteristically effortlessly. He was deep in his comfort zone, dancing to songs he’d heard variations and remixes of from when he could first pop-and-lock.

Life was simpler then. Chan was out there krumping to hammering beats and pulsing basslines or rolling his I-had-to-skip-dinner-for-weeks-to-get-these abs to a top 40’s smash hit. It was like reciting the alphabet, an entirety of ingrained memories and step-by-step processes that led him to the final rung on the ladder: filming and recording.

Attire? Simple. 

Location? Dance studio or scenic view from their next photoshoot. 

Production crew? Don’t sweat it.

He would monitor the performance with hawk eyes, plucking out the weak parts and dishing out a fresh batch of retakes. Call him a perfectionist, but he has standards and they had to be met. Once his nitpicking thirst was sated, Chan would admire his masterpiece with rose-colored glasses, longing to reveal the product of his sleepless nights to the fans. In hindsight, they were always the end goal. Like the light at the end of the tunnel, their supportive comments and constructive criticism were his driving force, motivating him to improve himself and his craft. It was their every right to expect the best out of him and, dammit, he was going to deliver!

Chan will never admit it, but he spends a surplus of his day stalking through the comment section, handpicking the ones that really make his fingers fidget with anticipation, comments that find ways to send signals all over his body and curl his toes, storing these for a later, more convenient time. Specifically, an especially private time where no one will question the blatant problem in his pants.

Consecrated were those evenings that he spent clattering with glee, buzzed up and giddy as the timer clocked down to the final seconds before posting. The Danceology series is his pride and joy, and his work up to this point has been nothing but smooth sailing. Operating on that system was familiar and comfortable, but it was safe. _Too_ safe even. And Lee Chan is anything but safe.

Life is different now. Seventeen as a group cocooned and grew different wings, musically inclined in every which way, finding a newer and uniquely-Seventeen sound. And, as a member of aforementioned reborn insect, Chan blended in with the times and branched out.

Realistically speaking, Chan knows he’s being too harsh on himself. Trying out a new discipline is like finding the right size of clothing; the different sizes and designs are available for a reason. ‘Feeling Good’ is his toe to test the waters, his initial observation in the ripples of contemporary dance. It’s stepping out of his comfort zone and, as anyone who’s ever stepped out of their comfort zone will tell you, it’s shit-your-pants, goosebumps-inducing, fresh-chalk-scratching-a-blackboard terrifying.

No amount of preparation could have prepared him for it, Chan believes. Countless hours were bled out of his system, eyes peeled on other dancers and their own pieces, reading up on the artform and seeing where he could squeeze his personality into it, slaving away in a sweltering practice room to ensure that his moves were crafted and executed to a tee. And, at the time, he thought he had it. It was liquid but not uncontrollable. Expressive but not exaggerated. Striking but not blinding. As the producers asked for his green light after recording, Chan confidently breathed in his product and savored every rewarding sensation.

But, watching it now, he’s gagging on his own oxygen, seconds away from an aneurysm.

His steps are too deliberate, as if performing from memorization and not feeling. A spin too many at one part and he’s facing the wrong direction, forcing him to improvise in compensation. His hip thrusts lacked their usual looseness, and his kick was devoid of power. His instinct barrels at him for tackling the new material unprepared, as if an extra week of rehearsals would have saved him the agony and humiliation. It’s an off-kilter painting protected by impenetrable glass; every inch of his perfectionist genetic make-up is gnawing at him to re-orient the angle but it’s out of his hands now.

In-between comeback preparations, interviews, and gruesome conditioning sessions, Chan might as well be living off caffeine IV bolus injections ( _now with creamer_!) with all the sleep he’s sacrificing. Time is a non-existent concept he’s swirling around in and now, there’s nothing he can possibly do except succumb to his epic failure. The chances for retakes are long gone and the schedule is set for his latest Danceology to release in less than 24 hours.

Which left him at the bottom of the option barrel: get drunk and hope that his beer (it’s technically rice wine) goggles will help him loosen the reigns somehow. However, after filling his belly with nothing but oral astringents, Chan continues to sulk in his own mediocre performance filth. He feels absolutely pathetic and it’s the poisonous part of his ego that makes him believe that the fans will see him in the same light. That they’ll watch it and comment on how his work is on the downward slope, how he’s somehow ‘lost his direction’ or ‘washed-up,’ or any remark in that grim area that makes him wish the ground would just swallow him up whole. In other words, a complete de-rection.

Chan’s on his hundredth-something replay (hundred and thirty fifth to be exact, but who’s keeping count?) and his eyes are slack from overexertion. The dormitory is exceptionally silent even for such a dead-of-night hour. The unusual absence of pillows being thrown at his face for playing his videos at maximum volume tell him that the members are either engaging themselves in their own vices or are too busy dicking each other down and are too close to their fourth or fifth nut to silence him. Or perhaps Hansol found another way to attract everyone up to the 8th floor for mistimed bossam. Whatever reason it may be, he thanks every tenant in the building for his solace. Chan just wants to be alone for a few more hours.

But, of course, the world isn’t kind like that. If it was, Chan wouldn’t be moping over his sad Danceology baby and would alternatively be pinned down on satin sheets, his head burning after being slammed against the headboard by the group’s resident puppy who’s in him so deep that he can feel the length poking his stomach. At least then his only problem would be containing his babymaker’s seeds as supposed to his pitiful tears. 

For now, he’ll settle for looking at the Korean Adonis, fluffy bedhead and adorably crooked teeth, through his blurry glasses.

“Hey, what are you doing up this late?” Mingyu stretches and unsuccessfully stifles a yawn, mouth and nose flaring inhumanely, and Chan briefly wonders why he’s attracted to him. Though the same action causes his shirt to ride up, flashing his lower washboard and Chan remembers why just as quickly.

Rubbing at his eyes to conceal the wetness, he gestures at his phone. “Just monitoring something.”

“Really? At this hour?” Mingyu approaches, easily peering over Chan to witness the new Danceology logo fading out into its hundred and thirty sixth replay. “You’re insane.”

“Our performances wouldn’t be amazing if we didn’t have a little insanity inside all of us,” Chan shrugs.

Slowly and sluggishly (very un-Mingyu-like), the older makes his way to the refrigerator, only knocking his elbow into the countertop once (very Mingyu-like). “You know, you monitor your performances so much that I can’t help but wonder if you’re only doing that to see yourself on camera,” he chuckles, scanning the appliance’s contents.

Chan gasps in protest, “I do not!” _He definitely fucking does_. So, what if Chan likes to admire his figure every now and then when he thrusts his hips or performs squats during the choreography? He doesn’t go to the gym every day for him to _not_ appreciate his commitment to the maximization of the physical form. It’s precisely the reason why he proposed the threadbare costume for his recent Danceology. A small visual treat for the fans and a certain 6’2 giant who just won’t put out. And it’s not like he’s Narcissus who jacks himself off to his own smirk or some shit like that. Chan is aware of his boundaries and knows where to draw the line.

(Okay, so he may have hidden in one of the company’s most well-hidden bathrooms to beat his meat after Soonyoung pointed out how everyone should follow Chan’s example for appropriate facial expressions when performing and it may have been one of the best orgasms he’d tasted in the twenty-two years of his gay existence, but it’s not like the horny police was around to stop him.)

“I’m just kidding. I know you care a lot about our team’s routines more than anyone.” Mingyu seizes a bottle of water, downing it in seconds. He’s in the cusp of another joke, but suddenly holds back. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

The puppy points over to Chan’s ghastly appearance. “Your eyes look really sore. Are you sick?”

Wiping on his numb lids, on their road to greater redness, he turns away in shame. “It’s nothing.” Chan grabs an empty bottle of makgeolli and shakes it. “Probably from the alcohol.”

“I can differentiate an Asian flush from an Asian liar. Plus, you’re probably the most tenacious out of us dongsaengs when it comes to drinking.” Mingyu strides over, claiming the stool next to him. Carefully, he extracts Chan of his glasses and applies the chilled water bottle as a makeshift icepack. “You can always talk to me, if you need to, yeah?”

What a cheesefest. _This isn’t some run-of-the-mill TV drama you’re starring in_ , Chan mentally verbalizes to the older, his heart ricocheting in his chest and threatening to burst out. That’s completely normal for him, so shut up. “I told you, hyung, that it’s nothing. Really,” he accentuates the last word, hoping to get his point across. It’s not like Mingyu has the magic to undo time, hence, there was no point in discussing the elephant in the room. Chan tucks away his phone, averting his gaze to the cupped fists on his lap.

Mingyu sighs. “Stubborn as always, I see.” The older purses his lips, as if mulling over what to say next. It only takes two-fifth of his latest Danceology’s runtime for Mingyu to speak up, beaming with a figurative lightbulb. “If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, can I at least help you take your mind off things for a while?”

“Hyung, I’m really not in the mood to hear about the time you thought you saw BoA-sunbaenim wave at you-“

“Hey! She really did wave at me during that award show!” Mingyu objects, retracting the faux icepack before putting it away altogether. “And that’s not what I had in mind.”

Before Chan can decipher whether the last statement was a double entendre aimed to send him to an early sex-induced grave (oh, how he wishes it was this one), Mingyu is plowing through the freezer, seemingly picking out ice by the bucket. Did Mingyu want them to count the number of ice cubes that could fit in the icebox at one time? It’s really more of a Minghao-Jisoo late night sloshed-on-pretentious-wine activity. “What are you doing?” Chan asks with furrowed eyebrows.

Unfazed, Mingyu whips out a frosted box. From the flashy orange and purple colors alone, Chan lights up instantly with recognition. It’s been a while since he last had it and he wouldn’t exactly mind the prospect of satisfying an underlying craving.

“Do you want to have a midnight snack with me?” the older grins, canines digging into his bottom lip. Truly a flower child. Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget the dichotomy of Mingyu’s on-stage persona and his childish whims.

Chan doesn’t need to think about it twice. Like a good luck charm, he nods frantically as Mingyu rips open the box of dinosaur chicken nuggets. The things Chan would do for a serving of fried questionable bird meat, coated with equally worrying breadcrumbs and shaped as extinct reptiles. A kid’s snack for all ages.

Scissors cut, a pan is on medium-heat, and the oil fizzles with enchantment. Mingyu packs them way too tightly into the saucepan, the pale-brown pieces caramelizing to their golden-brown forms. The hospitable move right now would be to offer help but living with the older for this long has taught Chan to leave him to his devices. It works better like this considering his own unfortunate culinary expertise.

In consolation, Chan at least gets to hopelessly admire his crush in action, all toned muscle and tan skin hidden behind the most atrocious pajamas that he just wants to rip off, flipping chicken nuggets like it’s his day job. And it’s not like Chan hasn’t been trying to get Mingyu to see him as more than just the group’s youngest and most ambitious. Being slightly more seductive during performance team rehearsals, flexing his abdomen even when the move doesn’t require it, rolling his hips languidly just to earn any ounce of attention out of him. He’s even gone as far as scrolling through fashion blogs to entice him with a newfound technical knowhow on dressing to impress for all his Danceology releases. Chan burned through his pathetic checklist of ideas, but all futile attempts came out zip. Empty. Nada. Nothing. The magic 8 ball’s most feared response of, ‘Don’t count on it.’ All he’s scored to this point was a friendly embrace on extremely good days. He doesn’t even want to think about the blankest of lip upturns that he receives on lousy days.

Whatever cosmic reasoning that propels Chan to the chase, may it be perseverance or pure idiocy, must be a proper glutton for punishment. It’s beyond frustrating to constantly outdo himself or unwittingly self-promote during variety shows just to escape the realm of indifference where he’s nothing more than one of the twelve other bodies Mingyu shares a living space with. The mathematics should be simple enough. Chan likes Mingyu and wants… something with him. But the missing addend of Mingyu reciprocating such feelings complicates what could have been a piece of cake.

Perhaps this is his reward for lusting over the unobtainable. Destiny was never really his next-door neighbor growing up and being said neighbor meant his attractive and responsible spouse whom he could pamper but also rock in bed was assured in his future. But destiny lived three towns over which simply meant that Mingyu was a mountain range, a canyon, and an ocean away from him. There really are attainable dreams that are as rare as shooting stars.

So, his tragic fate as the horny maknae is to marvel at the eighth wonder of the world via stuffy eyes, his mouth watering like a broken faucet. It’s general knowledge that Mingyu works out often. However, there’s a stark difference between a camera lens and human vision that causes reality to be a skyscraper above its counterpart. Long, thick legs that seemingly run for miles. Firm and juicy biceps that are perfect for household handiwork and as nap pillows. Or for lifting him up for rabid wall sex (definitely this one). And while Chan doesn’t have direct visual access right now, he memorized the slender curve of the older’s torso and the supple skin that encases it. 

The domestic image of Mingyu waking him up with tender puppy dog licks all over his face, a warm breakfast waiting for them and the smell of coffee permeating the air, is his hippocampus’ favorite daydream. Yet, with the way Mingyu’s perky bottom dances with his propensity to hum as he cooks, Chan is more than willing to burst that fluff bubble with his throbbing dinosaur in favor of being treated like the cock-thirsty gay that he is.

It’s just something about Mingyu’s physique and height that leads Chan to believe that the older is probably a domineering, praise-hungry sadist who wouldn’t fondle his balls until he writes an entire novel on the greatness and carnal appeals of Kim Mingyu (which he would gladly do, by the way; he has the first five chapters outlined on his computer).

But Chan could just be overanalyzing things again.

Every fiber of his being is pulling on him, drawing him to turn off the gas range and latch onto the other like a lifeline, breathing him in and feeling his entire length in his mouth until he cho-

 _Wait_.

He really needs to get his emotions in order. On one tear-stained hand, he’s smacking himself for his missteps in ‘Feeling Good’ and, on his other twitching hand, he wants Mingyu’s massive punishment palms to smack him on the ass until he screams for mercy. It’s like he’s in this melancholic, sex-driven middle ground where mourners grieve through orgies. And, as much as he enjoys the concept, he can’t be both at the same time.

“Chan, you’re drooling all over the countertop.”

Blinking his eyes with a matching shake of the head, he faces Mingyu, clad with a mountain of chicken nuggets precariously stacked on a single plate. “What?”

“Your saliva is seeping out of you,” the older snickers, settling on the stool beside him.

 _Shit_. Chan works on wiping away his fantasy’s excrements, amassing tissue paper to clean the surface. “Sorry, the food just smelled so appetizing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu reassures. Reaching over for chopsticks, he hands a pair to his seatmate and relocates their midnight stack closer between them. “So, feel free to dig in! I know it’s not the classiest meal in my cookbook-“

“It’s alright, hyung. I-I love it,” Chan smiles. “Thank you for doing this.”

The chef reciprocates, ruffling the other’s hair in the process. Ah, the good days. “Anything for my favorite dongsaeng.”

“I’m your favorite?” he excitedly inquires.

“Of course, you are! You’re like a baby brother to me.”

“Oh.” Way to shoot a man while he’s down in the friendzone pit. As much as he wants to remain impartial, Chan can’t repress the involuntary frown that depresses his lips.

Thank Mingyu for always being too perceptive for his own good when he asks, “Hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

Chan sighs. “It’s not that.” How could he possibly explain to his crush how much he wants to be more than just a sibling-figure or the clueless maknae in a manner that doesn’t make him sound pathetic and desperate? “We should eat the food before it gets cold,” he proposes, diverting his gaze to anywhere but Mingyu’s.

Luckily, the older doesn’t push the topic, maybe catching on Chan’s unwillingness to speak right now. “Alright then,” he agrees reproachfully. “I hope you worked up your stomach because I used up the whole box just for us.”

At that, he nods with the mildest of lip curves. His hyung’s own brand of sweetness was irresistible, partially the reason why Chan is kind of in love with him. With his chopstick-clad hand, he selects the nugget at the summit, gesturing for Mingyu to do the same. Once both are armed with their respective reptile, Chan meets the other’s utensils half-way. Given their several years of mental signal building, Mingyu copies the action and joins up their heads for a mock-cheers. A midnight snack of this caliber deserved its own humble inauguration.

It’s as delicious as he last remembered it. Crunch and crust, bite after bite. The cook on the treats is leaning towards the crispier side of the spectrum which is how he likes it. Each piece is light on his belly and quells the growling from the alcohol breaching his empty stomach. It’s salty yet mild and his umami receptors exult at the presence of their best friend, monosodium glutamate. 

They eat in comfortable silence, the occasional smack of lips and clashing of metal to the china bouncing off the walls as the only signifier that their dorm had occupants. Around half-way through the pile, Chan feels his mood rising like a gauge. Though he attributes the occurrence to the artery-clogging nuggets blocking his pesky neurotransmitters from playing hacky sack with his emotions, he acknowledges the warm blanket of Mingyu’s proximity as an anchor. With the way the older frequently peeps in his direction when he thinks the younger isn’t looking, almost as if ready to snatch any stray tears, Chan’s heart inflates like a balloon and butterflies flutter pleasantly deep inside. Concern is something he can work with.

Chan swallows his last bite of stegosaurus and begins. “Hyung, can I ask you something?”

The older hums through a mouthful, cheeks round as he chews. Despite his focus on the meal, Mingyu angles himself to listen better and the younger nearly blushes at the consideration, the indirect spotlight.

“Have you ever had a dedicated passion project that you’ve shared with the fans?”

Mingyu’s eyes round out slightly, as if caught off-guard. He chews through his thoughts alongside his nuggets, gulping down before replying. “I suppose not. So far, I’ve been delving into photography and videography, but I don’t think I’ve shared anything that I can consider to be a ‘dedicated’ project. I’m more of a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none sorta guy.” He tilts his head, seemingly wanting to read him. “Why’d you ask?”

He pads along his fingernails, unsure how to proceed. _Calming breaths_. This is Mingyu he’s talking to. The same hyung who genuinely asked if he was doing alright and proceeded to cook a snack to cheer him up when he didn’t want to speak up. Chan can trust him. “Well, it’s been over a year since I’ve been working on mine and I’m worried I might be lost.”

“This is the Danceology series, correct?”

The slightest of recognition flares his cheeks. “Yeah. What you saw me monitoring earlier was my newest entry set to be released tomorrow – well, technically later – and… I don’t know. It’s like nothing is sitting right with me anymore.” Their gazes lock for a moment. Even while his hyung is stuffing his face with nuggets, he knows that he has his full attention.

“How come?” the older asks, a gentle pout imploring him to explain further.

“I just… I don’t know why…” Chan sighs. This is harder than he thought, worsened only by the fact that Mingyu’s pout is one of the fluffiest images in the galaxy. “You know what, forget that I said anything.”

“Hey, now.” Mingyu consoles, hand rubbing the other’s shoulder. “You can tell me anything, remember?”

“I know, but I don’t think it’s anything you’d be interested in anyways.”

“Then why did I ask?” is the immediate response. “Just go through it one at a time, Channie. We have all night,” Mingyu encourages, flashing his canine smile that makes Chan’s knees go weak.

How could he possibly say no to that?

With catharsis in mind, Chan explains the thoughts plaguing his subconscious. From the roots of the series to his current frustrations as a performer branching out, he might as well be drunkenly babbling. Which he kind of is, though the food numbed out his faint buzz. 

And all throughout his speech, as he expected, Mingyu listened. Nodding along patiently, grinning for Chan to continue until he got it all out of his system. Lost between his own words and the final pieces of fried bird in his mouth, he barely registered their closeness. At magnifying glass ranges, Mingyu’s beauty is only amplified by an infinite factor. A faint yet rough stubble scattered across his melanin-rich skin, the plumpest cheeks that fill in when he smiles, and the glitter of his space gray eyes; Chan is helplessly enamored.

Oh, how he yearns to kiss those thick, taunting lips until its red and blooming. Or ride his dick until he’s sore. He’s on the fence about this one right now.

By the end of his ramble, he feels ten pounds lighter. Emotional baggage is always going to be a heavy load, he surmises, but to know its extent means undergoing a time without it, his refractory relief period. It’s alleviating to share it with someone he cares about, more so a person who always seemed out of reach. The reality of the situation is near miracle on earth, which is why he’s not entirely surprised when life shatters his stained-glass window.

“You know, I’ve never actually watched your series,” Mingyu admits nonchalantly after minutes of his silence.

And it’s like Chan’s been punched in the face. Which Mingyu might as well have. _It’s for yourself, it’s for the fans_ , he convinces himself but who is he to deny the fact that he styled himself in the videos with Mingyu’s type in mind? That he pushed himself over the edge to put on a show only for his most anticipated viewer not to arrive? Unexplainedly, the confession hurts worse than his discontent at his performance. This time, Chan can’t hold back his bubbling tears that have been lying dormant in his lacrimal glands.

Sniffles filling the air, Mingyu’s face goes crooked with concern. “Chan? Why are you crying?”

Chan hastily shakes his head, hiding his face beneath his hands knowing that the tears won’t stop falling for a while. 

“Was it something I did? Something I said?” the older seeks urgently, voice pleading.

Chan groans and hates how Mingyu can be so clueless at all the wrong moments. Genie wishes in mind, he wants for nothing more than his seatmate to take the hint and leave him alone to be a sad lump for a little while. It’s bad enough that his Danceology is down in the dumps, but to know that the extra love and care that he added to his passion project continues to go unrecognized by the person he intended it for is the final nail on his pathetic coffin.

Before he can perceive the contact, Mingyu has him in a tight bearhug, strong arms caging him in. Divest of oxygen, Chan lowers his hands, itching to embrace him in return but unsure of himself. With Mingyu’s standing height and his seated position, he’s leaning more towards rock-hard abs as opposed to comfortable cushioning. Chan won’t complain about that, however.

“I’m sorry, Channie. Please tell me what I did so I can properly make amends,” Mingyu urges, deep baritone resounding in Chan’s ears and reverberating all around his chest. To extend the courtesy, the older cards through his dark locks, his warm breath fanning over his scalp given their height difference. The younger internally screams at how much he enjoys the movements, at how his heart trembles with vulnerability.

Chan shakes his head once more, attempting to hold back the waterworks while regaining his composure. The warmth of the hug and the soothing movements on his back entice him to spill his truths, but a tiny part of his brain wants the older to realize these on his own.

The pair remain in their bubble for several minutes, Mingyu quietly waiting for Chan’s breathing to even out. Once the sobbing weakened to shallow breaths, the hugger suggests, “If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, can I name a few ideas off the top of my head? You just have to nod if I got it right. What do you say, Channie?”

He dares to peek up, meeting the other’s soft gaze, lips turned kindly and reassurance sprawled across his eyes. Chan smiles beyond his accord, nodding in approval.

“Okay, alright,” Mingyu begins, tapping his finger on Chan’s back. “Does it have to do with the dinosaur chicken nuggets? Did I cook them wrong?”

Chan shakes his head. “They were delicious, hyung.”

“Is it… because I smell bad?”

He giggles, shaking his head again. “Hyung, you always smell good.” Chan takes a whiff for good measure. All earthy musk and lemony fresh undertones, the group’s choice of fabric conditioner, pleasantly tingling his olfactory receptors. In the Mariana Trench of his brain, he wonders if this is the wrong time to lick him.

“I really do, don’t I?” Mingyu kids, receiving a weak but determined nudge for it. “Is it because I said that I haven’t watched your Danceology series?”

Chan involuntarily whimpers, hiding his face from the expected teasing. Now that he has greater mental clarity, crying over his hyung having not seen his videos sounds ludicrous even for him. The members always lovingly picked on him for being overly passionate, so the jokes weren’t anything new. The absence of them in his crush’s words is, though.

“You must really care about your project to have it affect you this much, huh?” Mingyu questions, tipping the younger’s chin for their eyes to meet. Like a blackhole, space gray eyes pull him in and extract the words out of his safe zone.

“I do.” Which is 97% of the truth. Chan isn’t the keenest member when it comes to SNS or Weverse, so the Danceology series is his indirect communication with the fans. It’s his way of updating them on how he’s currently doing and where he wants to go in the future using the method of expression he knows best.

The remaining 3%? All for the universe’s warmest hug enveloping him.

“Then would you be interested in watching the Danceology series with me?”

“You don’t have to, hyung,” Chan whispers to the other’s brick wall of abs. He’s comfortable staying like this all night, if he were being totally honest.

“But I want to.” Mingyu’s voice is earnest and the broad hands petting his head drive him to pliancy. “My personal schedules took up a lot of my time, but I have some now. And what better way to watch a masterpiece than with the artist himself, right?”

He instinctually scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “It’s not a masterpiece.”

“It is if you made it,” the older rebuts, cheeky yet honest. Warmth finds its way to his cheeks and a subtle nuance disrupts his boxer briefs. Lee Chan is a weak, weak man, indeed. “Come on, you can tell me all about the process and your inspiration for the moves. It’s like I’m doing a private insider interview!”

How Mingyu manages to be an actual sex symbol with a side of giddiness and weirdness is Chan’s gripping question for the evening. Nevertheless, they’re all qualities Chan is defenseless against. “Alright,” he relents, failing to repress his own excitement.

With a couple of rearrangements, Mingyu’s phone is out, the two ends supported by a hand from each boy. The surviving dinosaur chicken nuggets lay between them, continuously dwindling as they pick it over while waiting for the Danceology playlist to finish loading. Chan takes a cursory glance and captures the image of the older happily anticipating the videos as he beheads yet another brontosaurus. 

Never would Chan have imagined spending his budding Friday with Mingyu, about to watch his proudest works, and a midnight snack filling their bellies. Yet, then again, Chan never thought he would cry in front of said man because of the aforementioned works, so this evening is a whole bag of surprises.

And… 

It’s not horrible.

Well…

Initially, the awkwardness overwhelms him. To his credit, the concept of sharing this moment with his crush was the hook. And now that he’s sinking, he desperately wants to pull on the line back up. It’s similar to listening to his own voice on record, the illusion of his ‘normal’-sounding voice smashing into a million miniscule pieces as he bears witness to the atrocity of the sounds escaping the speakers.

But Mingyu remains sincere, asking authentic questions, if the insight in his irises were any indication. Before he knows it, Chan is walking the other through his process, videos continuously playing as he doubles between explaining and viewing. If the older is not inspecting the cinematography and production, he’s bopping along to the song or _ooh_ -ing and _ahh_ -ing to the intricate moves. Chan grins with his eyes, elated at Mingyu’s genuine amusement and the way he feels inside with their shoulders side-by-side. 

It almost feels like a dream.

As they complete the portion of the series posted online, Chan readies his phone, his ‘Feeling Good’ Danceology luckily (or unluckily) already loaded. So far, he’s confident of the positive reception his earlier works received. But now that he’s out of his comfort zone again, anxiety runs amiss through his blood vessels. The older looks at him expectantly and he prudently plays the video.

Resisting his urge to turn away, Chan bears witness to his hundred and thirty seventh replay. The same moves that he was deliberating earlier stand out again, yet the difference now is that his audience can see them, too. Throughout the runtime, Mingyu remains quiet, a finger cupping his mouth and tapping in equal intervals. He switches between the video and his seatmate, doubt building given the absence of readable reactions during the one-hundred and fifty seconds. 

This is what he feared. That he’s only good inside his bubble, that popping it will reveal how he lacks the finesse to venture out. He thought that, at twenty-two years of age, it would be the right time to explore his horizons and try new things, but maybe he isn’t ready yet. Perhaps those other viewers were right, that he’s too young and that he isn’t anyone special-

“Chan, that was amazing!”

A violent shaking on his shoulders warps him back to the present. “What?”

“Your Danceology series. I think it’s amazing!” Mingyu clarifies, smiling and elated.

Chan has to take several moments to wrap his finger around it because _what_? “Did you really enjoy it, hyung?”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically, a hand reaching out to yank him closer. The warmth of his grasp rather the suddenness flusters the younger, blooming scarlet on his cheeks. “Of course, I did, Channie. Your performance was sublime, as always.”

His venomous ego strikes a nerve. “You don’t have to sugarcoat things, hyung,” Chan states wistfully, bowing his head.

And it’s like Mingyu is the antidote. “No, I mean it! Come on, look.” Using his own phone, the older resets the playlist from ‘5 In The Morning’. Once the beat kicks in, Mingyu brings the screen into Chan’s field of vision. “Look at you hitting all those beats! That takes a lot of technique and you made it look detailed despite the song’s speed.”

There’s a tingle on his skin. “That’s because I practiced it a lot-“

“That’s not all, Channie.” Mingyu draws along Chan’s positions, constantly shifting with the music. “Your angles are so precise and there’s balance in your core. I think that’s a mark of a professional.”

His feet begin to stutter step, thighs clenching in his sweats. “Thank you, hyung, but don’t you think everyone else can-“

“Not everyone is capable of your skills and that’s honestly incredible.” As Chan’s first Danceology ends, the succeeding one plays automatically. “Here, look at yourself go!” 

His heart picks up the pace, contracting and relaxing at unprecedented rates. Chan watches his on-screen self, shifting his weight between sides and flaunting his ass trapped in tight jeans. Scarlet hues overcome his melanin. “That’s nothing difficult-“

As always, Mingyu’s disposition to work himself up never fails to pick the worst of times. “You have so much balance here especially when you nearly tip yourself over only to recover. And, man, your footwork is insane!” The puppy’s head bops to the bass and coos as dancing Chan reaches his climax. “Your expressions are so sexy here, Channie! Your timing for removing your cap and leather jacket were impeccable.”

Beads of sweat collate on his temple, his back, his chest. ‘ _Sexy_.’ One of his known trigger words, weighing down on his lungs and stressing his breathing. “Hyung, you’re being t-too generous-“

City lights flash right before the camera focuses on a Japanese lantern. The title of his third Danceology, Chris Brown’s ‘Undecided,’ in striking bold font pops up. “Oh, Channie, this one’s my favorite!” The older shakes him, their joined bodies vibrating with their stools. If only Mingyu knew how close Chan was to sudden combustion. “’Fluidity and connection,’ right? You mentioned that was your goal this Danceology.”

Between labored breaths, Chan manages a brisk nod, goosebumps arising and attempting to release his inner heat to no avail. “T-that’s r-right-“

“I think it’s safe to say, ‘mission accomplished’! I can’t stop replaying the chorus part,” Mingyu declares with acclaim, double-tapping his screen to repeat his single-single-double motion. “Your movements are so fast and loose, but are perfect for the song, don’t you think? They’re the kinds I can only hope to do someday!”

“H-hyung…” he stutters, struggling through the words. Heat wells in his lower abdomen, twisting and turning his stomach. Slowly but surely, his sweats earn their name as fresh perspiration coats his legs. Like a forecast, Chan knows what’s coming but he’s caught out without an umbrella. He squeezes his legs in preparation. “You’re a-an amazing dancer, too.”

“Not as good as you, though.” Mingyu faces him, confusing arousal for denial, and expounds. “I mean it, Channie! You’re one of our main dancers and for a good reason.” The older gestures to his phone, halting the video in its tracks. “I’ve seen your Danceology from the beginning now and I’ve known you for much longer. Yes, I’m no authority when it comes to dancing, but I can sense passion when I see it and you have bucket loads of it, Channie.”

Spinning in a vat of his own emotions, Chan is heavily disoriented and highly stimulated. His mouth waters and, in the confines of his tight underwear that he now regrets wearing, his member twitches and elongates. Yet, butterflies swirl all around him when Mingyu rubs his side almost lovingly. Needless to say, Chan’s heart is in disarray. “Mingyu hyung…”

“Seeing you grow up from our trainee days to the man you’ve become now, I can’t help but marvel at how bolder and more expressive you are,” Mingyu praises, blindly ignoring the obvious discomfort of his companion. “Your passion project is a testament to your growth as a dancer. You’ve come so far from that cute Chan that came into the company one day as a trainee, yeah?”

‘ _Cute_.’ Another trigger word that he’s not particularly proud of. It’s strength prickles another batch of tears in his eyes, tension in his groin rising alarmingly. Chan latches on, embracing Mingyu and anchoring his receptors to his scent but that only serves as fuel to his fire. Why did he have to smell like the younger’s best wet dreams?

Mingyu frisks through Chan’s hair and rubs soothing circles on his back. “Each of your Danceology pieces are unique and show a different side of you. They’re your trademark that I’ve learned to appreciate, even more so now that I got to watch them with you.” The older grins, perhaps aiming at reassurance but only serves as dry, dry kindle. 

His massive hand cups the younger’s face and the latter chases its warmth, loving how the older can easily capture him with a single hold. Below, Chan senses a major disturbance and instinctually retracts his pelvis, avoiding a complete disaster.

“I know we hyungs give you a hard time for self-promoting too much, but I just want to tell you that it’s endearing that you really care about your craft and what you do.” Mingyu easily lands his chin on the other’s scalp, his hot breath fanning the flames. The position simplifies their hugging mechanics, so the older acts on it. “You’re a phenomenal performer, Channie, and I can only count my stars to be even close to your talent someday.”

Just like that, Chan’s tears spill over. He sobs, muffled by Mingyu’s tainted and ruined shirt, both from the affirmation and his throbbing erection grazing against fabric. The rate of his hardness was astronomical, the fastest he’s ever experienced it. Chan is aware of how compliments affect him, how to deal with them in public. But when it comes from the apple of his eyes, the older’s heart beating sincerely and in-time with his breathing as he praises the younger, Chan is about thrice as randy as humanly acceptable. 

It’s a little ridiculous, honestly.

He holds the other close, ensuring distance between their lower abdomens. He shuts his eyes and wills himself not to rut against Mingyu suddenly. The urge to stick his hand down his pants makes his fingers tremble, so Chan laces them together behind the older. He can barely contain the whimper in his voice. “H-hyung, please…”

Yet again, Mingyu reads the cards wrong. “You might think I’m buttering you up with all these things I’m saying, but I do mean them, Channie. It’s scary trying out new things and you have every right to feel what you’re feeling right now,” he consoles, hand migrating to Chan’s neck and thumb rubbing on the pulse point. “But your latest work is just as impressive as the rest and anyone with their right mind would agree with me, yeah? So, I hope that you can take it to heart when I tell you that you’re a talented, well-rounded performer.”

Chan heaves out, tears rolling down his cheeks. Those are the words he never thought he needed to hear. Genuine and heartfelt confirmation of his abilities and its outcomes from the person he loves most. Shattered is his venom pit, the snake encasing his psyche uncoiling and evaporating into thin air. Given the opportunity, Chan would yell at the top of his lungs, releasing the pent-up anxiety and tension in his chest. But, as it stands, the group can’t stand another noise complaint from their neighbors or a scolding from their management over mild misdemeanors.

And more importantly, he has other tensions that require due release. Chan sucks on his bottom lip, parched from alcohol and nuggets, and bites back a moan as he rubs his broad thighs together for some blessed friction. His dick’s sensitivity levels are off the charts and he ends up gritting his teeth so as not to let anything show. Mingyu continues to ramble, unaware of the younger’s private relief mission, and unwittingly spurs Chan on when his warm breath catches on the shell of the dancer’s ears. Shivers run down his spine and the words enter one earlobe only to exit the other, veritable gibberish for the younger when all he can focus on is taming his wild heart.

His thigh scrapes his perineum and his teeth nearly rips his gums. Chan arches his back on instinct and his pebbled nipples rub against Mingyu’s chiseled chest. This time, he’s unable to withhold the sound. “ _Ahhh_!” The high-pitched groan finally claims the older’s attention.

“Chan, you’re crying again! What’s wrong, baby?”

The younger shies away but is caged in by Mingyu’s firm biceps wrapped around his dorsum. Chan breathes through his nose while his thighs flex and relax in pursuit of his orgasm. His dick twitches in its place, unsure of its owner’s intentions of finding release or finding shelter. At least Chan wore his black sweats this evening.

“Did I say too much? Did I make you uncomfortable?” Mingyu’s words run a mile a minute and are laced with worry when the younger simply wants them dipped in lubricant. “This is all wrong! I’m not supposed to be the one who makes you cry.”

Mingyu’s hand travels further south to his sacrum, petting him there and adding fresh wood to the fire in his belly. The sensations are borderline ticklish, but the signals fire rapidly and reach his own wood, readily overpowering his senses with nothing but desire. “M-Mingyu hyung…”

“Chan, please don’t cry. You have to know how much you mean to me. Please tell me what it is I did again so that I can make things right,” the older urges on, eyes imploring. Mingyu tips the other’s chin for their gazes to align. Seeing the wetness scattered on Chan’s face, he swabs a finger to remove as much as he can. “Talk to hyung, Channie. Please?”

He meekly shakes his head, crimson and devoid of power. Chan can’t contain his whimpers, mouth going slack and exhaling, especially with how Mingyu referred to himself in the third person. He didn’t know he had a thing for that until he heard it come out of the rapper’s lips. “I-I’m not uncomfortable, hyung,” he stutters through the words like how his feet tap against the stool’s footrest. “I-I’m just… _Ngggh_!” Air escapes his lungs when his thighs squeeze once more, enveloping his pulsing cock in a tight, sphincter-like heat.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it again. At least tell me what I can do to make it up to you,” the puppy pouts, brushing the errant locks out of the dancer’s flushed face. “Do you want me to cook another batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets? I think I saw another box in the freezer.”

Mingyu almost steps away, but Chan secures a wrist, prompting him to still. The moment helped him regain an inkling of clarity, witnessing the obvious confusion in his seatmate’s face. Chan would explain his random outburst of emotions, he really would, but he’s hesitant and with reasonable apprehensions. How could he possibly broach the topic of his fired-up pocket rocket waiting for the command tower’s go signal to launch? It’s utterly beyond him. Instead, he blinks away the remaining tears and musters up the courage to speak, “S-stay.”

The older does a brief once-over, foolishly missing out the sex written all over Chan’s wrecked appearance, and gives in. Standing in front of him, Mingyu looms over him with a gentle frown. Height is a sensitive topic for him, yet Chan’s heart does flips at how easily his crush can tower over him. “Then please tell me what I can do to make it up to you. I’ll do _anything_.” 

The weighted enunciation at the last word causes his knees to buckle. Glad to still be seated, he surges forward and claims a free hand with his own. Reluctance fills his palms, and the sweat weakens their contact until Mingyu fastens their hands together. 

Chan’s eyes fly up, neck practically breaking at the angle he maintains to search the other for answers. Colored irises tremble in their spot and the tinge of dark hues in their dilated state makes him gulp down a lump. He’s not as composed as Chan originally believed him to be. Movement on the older’s lips catches his attention. Mingyu mouths out _anything_ again in a pace that’s almost knowing, as if aware of his influence.

Maybe Mingyu wasn’t as imperceptive as he thought.

 _If you put it that way_ , he wonders. Chan draws in their linked hands closer to his abdomen, his gaze never once leaving Mingyu’s. His heart rate accelerates, and preemptive goosebumps appear. He loosens his grip and sucks in a deep breath. Relaxing his thighs, Chan pulls the older’s hand nearer and nearer, practically bathing in its heat as-

“ _Ahhh, fuck_!” Chan moans, finally releasing the restraints on his vocal cords.

“Shit, Channie,” Mingyu utters in baritone. His knuckles graze his length before feeling the girth on his fingertips, pushing another needy grumble out of the younger’s mouth. “You’re so hard and you didn’t tell me!” The astonishment in his voice surprises Chan. “What brought this on?”

The warm sensation rubbing through his clothed erection liquefies his bones, falling limp against the older’s chest. Another wave of tears escapes only to be caught on the damp shirt Chan hides against. He shakes his head at the inquiry, unwilling to reveal his kink.

But Mingyu wasn’t declared their group’s sexy brain for nothing. “Is this because of the compliments?” As soon as the statement leaves his lips, Chan elongates inside the other’s hold. “It is! I never knew my baby liked being showered with praise.” To experiment, the older palms his cock languidly, drawing it out to see its extent. The younger grips on his shirt to ground himself, mewling and biting into the solid cushioning. 

“Hyung… I-I really like when you call me that,” Chan murmurs. His thunder thighs restart their motions, practically trapping the massive hand at his crotch.

“Call you what, Channie?” Mingyu feigns ignorance. The older’s palm draws circles on his glans penis while his pointer and middle finger scrubs his testicles, making the younger see stars. “I need you to tell me what you like.”

“I-I… _Ahhh_! Min-Mingyu hyung…” The pace begins to pick up and his words are an utter mess. His hips undulate and the friction on his aching cock arches his back, pleasurable moans morphing into screams that fill their living room with vulgar imagery.

Just as soon as he gets into it, Mingyu retracts his hands altogether, forcing Chan to look at him. Despite his even tone, the rapper’s eyes are almost midnight black and are tainted with lust. It looks like he wants to eat Chan alive and that riles his skin up from both fear and arousal. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what it is you like, Channie. Won’t you indulge your hyung a little, hmm?”

Chan’s crimson cheeks deepen at the question, suddenly aware of his situation. He dares turn away but it’s as if Mingyu has his eyes paralyzed and superglued onto his own. “I-I really like it when you call me your ‘baby.’ And I want y-you to t-touch me more, hyung.”

Mingyu beams his crooked teeth, grin mischievous, appeased at the younger’s admission. “That’s my baby.” He plants a kiss on the younger’s forehead, breathing in Chan’s apple shampoo. “I meant it when I said I’ll do anything for you, you know that right?”

He lights up, nodding fervently for the first time in what feels like a millennium. “D-does that mean you’ll touch me again, hyung?” Chan bucks up, chasing the lingering hand hovering over him when said hands hold him down by his thighs. He whines at the grip, craving the warmth and relief.

The older clicks his tongue though his expression is indulgent. “Someone’s a little impatient and wouldn’t let me finish.” 

A single fist remains between his thighs, close to where it needs to be but not letting up. The other hand roams to Chan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the mass there before wandering to card through his frayed black locks. Chan preens to the touch and his breathing weakens. “Please t-touch me, hyung…”

“Shhh. I know, Channie. I know.” To compensate, the hand between his thighs sneaks under and massages on the muscles just below his ass. The dancer barely controls his shivering and loses himself in the pampering. “I want you to do something for me first. Can you do that, baby?”

With his weakness exploited, Chan purrs at the pet name, more than willing to oblige. He drenches his lips with a wet tongue, soothing the barrenness to speak. “I can d-do it, Mingyu.”

There’s a sharp grip on his hair, surprise eliciting a shriek. “It’s ‘hyung’ to you, Channie.” Mingyu tugs and aligns their visual connection. “Do you understand me?”

Chan nods and tempers his temptations. “Yes, hyung.” 

“Good,” the older commends, inching down to land another nimble kiss along his hairline. The longing inside Chan balloons, dreaming of those plush lips on his own, but he bursts it in favor of avoiding another scolding. For now, he settles for the Mingyu-induced oxytocin circulating in his bloodstream. “Now, be a lamb and behave, hmm?”

The palm on his thighs still and pull, motioning for him to stand. With a steady nudge, his stance is widened. Chan wonders what favor the older has in mind at such an unfavorable time when the colossal hand is replaced with a firm thigh. “ _Ohhh_!” he gasps out at the fresh contact, a renewed pack of blood filling his length. He peels his eyes open, wistful at the implication. “H-hyung… c-can I-“

“On one condition.” Using a free hand, Mingyu reaches over for his phone on the countertop, face recognition unlocking it for him. He twists it so that the screen faces the younger. The fourth Danceology video is paused at the beginning and the most devious smirk forms on the older’s lips. “Watch how sexy you are when you dance, baby.” 

Without warning, the video begins with the sounds of waves that remind him too much of squelching fingers and anal play and his mind is deep, deep down in the gutter. Chan chokes down a sob, his dick straining in his sweats at the acclamation. The stretch barely grazes the thigh, but the sensation is immaculate on his heat. “Hyung, can I-“ The words barely leave his lips when Mingyu snuggles his leg closer by a hair. “ _Ohhh_! _Yes, yes, y-yes_ … c-can I move, hyung?” Chan stammers, fighting every impulse to ram himself against the beanpole in front of him, and pleads with a wrecked voice he had never heard before, “ _Please_ …”

Mingyu swoops in and jerks the younger’s head to bare his neck, heaving in all of Chan’s scent and leaving behind the prickliest tingle on the skin. Fleshy lips travel along the expanse, close but never touching, before halting dead on his ears. “As long as you keep your eyes open for the show,” is the breathy whisper followed by a heated tongue that laves at the shell of his ear.

Chan doesn’t wait a millisecond longer. Shamelessly, he ruts against the thigh in his midst, grinds his hips as high as he can go. The height difference is a connected puzzle piece, the dancer’s crotch leveled at the thickest part of the rapper’s drumstick. Moan after moan escapes, not withholding any decibel as the silence is drowned out with his needy cries. As promised, he resists the gravity of his eyelids to watch on-screen Chan shimmy his wrist around in a clockwork motion. The older stares into his soul like a warden ensuring the torture device’s flawless operation. The grip on his hair doesn’t loosen, but Chan cherishes the pain and how the thumb there caresses his scalp. 

“Look at how flexible you are even in skinny jeans, Channie,” Mingyu points out. The comment remains genuine, but the tone is honey-dipped and rough, as if suppressing a growl. “How far do you think I can stretch you out, baby? Do you think hyung’s cock can sink all the way down your tight hole?”

Sneaky crimson taints his entire body at the insinuation. “Min-Mingyu hyung…” His hips whip up like a well-oiled machine, the friction from the fabrics powerful enough to form static electricity. The feeling is delicious, his summit in sight.

But it’s not enough for him.

He wants _more_.

Chan embraces their chests together, adding a new point of contact. The pebbled nubs touch a plane of abs and it’s as if he’s getting his rocks off after Jihoon applauded him for writing ‘Fallin’ Flower’. That was an amazing orgasm, definitely in his top ten. 

His hands pinch down on the older’s shoulder blades, the grip enough to bruise, but the rapper shows no sign of soreness. Instead, his face is dark, giving away nothing, and is strangely un-Mingyu. Chan could easily confuse him for a statue if not for the flexing-relaxing mechanics that his dick is humping against.

Mingyu mops away the sheen of sweat on the younger’s neck. “Were you this sweaty when you shot this? You’re so pretty when you’re really invested in something.” The older sucks marks into the red skin, adding his own tints of blues and purples as if it were his canvas to paint over. “I wonder who you were thinking of when you strut your hips like that, baby.”

“Only y- _Ohhh_!-you, Mingyu hyung. You’re the only person I think about when I dance.” Chan’s blood drains out of his body at the embarrassing reveal, but the rapper’s wolf peaks out. Mingyu relocates his hand, driving south just behind his shoulder blades. With minor coaxing, the palm massages there and pushes his stimulated nipples further into heated skin. “ _Yes_ , just like that! Ple-please touch me more!”

“But I am touching you, baby.”

Chan whimpers at all the sensations, his hips undulating and nubs stimulated with the right amount of drag. Yet he yearns for the iron-clad clasp devouring him like he was a desert oasis and Mingyu was a parched man. However, their angle gives him no leeway and Chan won’t even attempt to overpower him. That’s basically attempting flight. “Please to-touch me here, hyung,” he pleads and thrusts and utilizes his youthful deviance to his advantage.

“ _Fuck, Chan_!” the rapper howls when the dancer rubs their clothed erections against one another. It’s impossible that they weren’t both hard, he speculates. No one’s _that_ talented at inhibiting a boner. “You’re a sneaky little minx, aren’t you?”

He’d smirk at the success of his ploy, but the triumph is short-lived as a thick palm spanks him hard then tender, kneading purposefully before playfully poking at a concealed sphincter. His heart rate doubles, triples even, with anticipation. He’s hardly able to maintain his focus on his fifth Danceology video, a favor for… Chan honestly can’t recall the guy’s name anymore. He’s too blissed out with the intimacy of the moment and their position placed in high contrast with the naughty grip on his gluteus and the thigh that reels him in closer to his high that consumes his thoughts with nothing but _Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu_.

Instincts take over. He needs the added pressure. _Now_. Chan releases his self-restraint on his fingers and discreetly reaches for his member, prepared to bunk him up an airline class. Though, he should have foreseen that they didn’t have a first-class ticket with them.

Mingyu frowns at him, charming amid his greed, and retracts his own hand to stop the other’s dead on its tracks. “You’re not going to want to do that,” he warns, threateningly exposing his canines. “Am I not good enough for you, baby?”

Chan briskly denies it, stilling his movements. “You’re mo-more than enough, hyung. I-I just want you to touch me more.”

“And I will, baby,” he vows, voice sweet and baritone rich. “As long as you finish this for me first.”

“Mingyu hyung…”

“I thought the maknae was always up for a challenge?” the rapper arches a brow, eyes finding his. Concentric circles travel about his wrist and press down lightly on his pulse. Whisper-toned but resonant, Mingyu inquires, “Where is my courageous maknae now?”

Sparks fly and his competitiveness kicks into full gear. Who was he to disappoint his hyung? “He’s right here, hyung,” he says with determination firing anew.

“That’s right. You’re sexiest like this, baby, did you know that? It’s like there’s sparkles in your dazzling eyes,” Mingyu flatters with a supple kiss on his forehead. The slightest wetness near his eyes is caught and an experienced thumb rubs on his eyelids. “Let me help you a little, hmm?”

He melts into the words, his body pliant as Mingyu readjusts the younger’s stance to tangle a leg around his waist. In his new location, his entire length earns their exclusive membership to the Kim Mingyu Thigh Tropics Spa and Golf Resort. He whimpers as the hand then finds its way past his waistband, heated skin on heated skin interacting and repositioning so that the dancer can fully utilize his flexibility. “ _Yes_! Just like tha-that, please!” 

Chan isn’t religious, but he’d gladly build a shrine to whatever deity thought of combining Mingyu’s genes and propensity for abusing the leg press at the gym for the new best humping pole he’s ever had between his aching legs. He sends his formal apologies to his Spiderman bolster. There’s a new man in town.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying,” the older grins into his skin, landing quick pecks on his scalp and mouthing words of encouragement. “Let’s bring you over your edge now. I think my baby’s been waiting too long.”

“Too long,” he nods his head like a mantra, impatient and deprived of his orgasm. His knees are about two and a half minutes away from caving in. “Please, hyung… a-and please don’t stop talking…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” Mingyu assures. Chan’s stomach does an entire Produnova vault. He used to think pet names were disgusting. But now he also believes that past-Chan was a fucking idiot. “Keep your eyes open for the final show.”

Changing devices, the older quickly enters Chan’s phone (he mentally punches himself for setting his passcode as six consecutive zeroes) and the latter’s pupils dilate. It’s his ultimate de-rection, now in high definition. “No, no, no-“

“Trust me, Channie. You’re being too harsh on yourself,” the rapper interrupts, smile indulgent amidst the space gray sex twinkling in his irises. Mingyu cards through Chan’s hair casually, bunching it up then releasing it repeatedly. The title screen dissipates in a white haze and on-screen Chan makes his presence known. “The production is beautiful, the moves are beautiful, and you’re beautiful, baby. I wish I could help you see what I see.”

Chan’s mind-body dichotomy is in a snag. His ego’s venom refills at the sight of his tragedy, the same one he blew his eyes out trying to get over. Yet, in his sweats, his dick stretches further with blood and leaks pre-cum almost to a fault. And, in his lacrimal glands, the last concrete barrier of the dam crumbles down.

No one had ever called him ‘beautiful’ the way Mingyu did. How sincere every treble in his voice resonated. How steady his eyes stilled with reassurance. How steadfast the other’s heart drummed in time with his words, the three syllables enough to send him to heaven.

The body can be so honest, he believes. Because he surely clings on tighter, breathes in deeper, feeling and wanting everything with the man who singlehandedly mended his broken spirit. 

He never thought he needed to hear someone call him that, yet the moment snuck up on him, revealing just how much he truly wanted it. His truth, hidden beneath layers upon layers of confidence, of how much affirmation rebuilds him.

“Your facial expressions are killer, baby. I never thought you could be more dashing than you already are,” Mingyu mutters under his breath. The fingers in his underwear curl and uncurl torturously, a couple motions almost playing with his sphincter. “Even the smallest movements are accentuated. You’ve got to tell me how you do that.”

Chan’s tears spill over, warm on his even warmer cheeks. He continues to rut against the muscle, spurred on further when the older’s lips mark a path on his temple. “It’s just practice, hyung…”

“No one can be this good with just practice,” Mingyu states with a grin, fiery breath tingling his scalp, “That’s all you, Channie.” If it were even possible, the younger’s heart rate accelerates with the added workload from maintaining his hip’s pace and the atrial flutter driving him insane. Despite the moment, the rapper chuckles, “You have the cutest belly, baby. Did you really plan on wearing such a revealing outfit?”

He mirrors the laughter, his lips (and his dick) curving up. “I-I did it for you, hyung.”

“For me, huh?” the older asks, smirking then pouting at lightning speeds. “If you put it that way, then I don’t think I like that you did.”

Chan’s eyes widen, worried. “D-don’t you like it?”

“I do. A little too much.” To prove his point, Mingyu rubs their cocks together, twin moans escaping their lips. Chan can only imagine how much self-restraint the older must have given their own skyscraper-sized rocket ship awaiting blastoff. The older recovers faster than he does, relocating his hand to the small of his back and holding him there, dare he say, possessively. “Which is why I’d rather that only I can get to see you like that, baby.”

“How come, hyung?” Funny how he uses the word ‘come’ when it’s all he wants to do right now, but the alternatives are nowhere to be found in his vocabulary. His eyes flicker between the rapper’s eyes and his phone as on-screen Chan thumps his chest to the rhythm of real-life Chan’s heartbeat.

“Because I’m in love with you, Channie, and I don’t think I can share you with the viewers.”

And all the air in his lungs leaves his system. With his last ounce of oxygen, he embraces Mingyu and latches on for dear life. His hips are guided on some mechanical, sex-driven autopilot mode while his tears work their way out in rivulets. Chan’s brain pops a mental blue screen because everything is a little too much for him right now. 

There’s only a number of things his receptors can pick up on: Mingyu’s night shirt is wet with his tears and is only bound to get wetter; his dick is the longest it’s ever been in a very long time and is rocking along the firmest group of muscles his gay self has ever had the privilege of rocking; and his seemingly out-of-reach crush loves him back and his oxytocin is throwing an amazing afterparty.

“Look at how smooth your movements are here. You’re laser-focused, as you always are.” The older’s sweet voice surprisingly morphs into a growl. “I love your plump ass, baby. I always knew it was thick, but I never knew that it would take my entire hand just to hold it.” Mingyu lowers his hand back to the swell of his ass and widens his palm to its full extent, retracting to land a sharp slap. They both hiss. “The things you do to me, Channie…”

Chan mewls at the praise and tightens his grip to avoid biting into skin to muffle his embarrassing sounds. With his ear by the other’s heart, he admires the way he can sense their shared heartbeats, both earnest in their place and confirming the truth in the older’s every statement. The hand works its way back to massaging the gluteus and his bones lose all their density. “Hyung…”

Mingyu coos above him. “Your technique is really phenomenal. How many turns did you make just then?”

“I’m not-“ His frenulum catches on a bunch of fabric and the drag sends him flying. “ _Ahhh_!” He’s not going to last much longer with the way he’s putting his lower body strength to good use.

“Well, regardless of the number, it was excellent,” the older rectifies. “You’re meeting every beat precisely, your body is perfectly loose, and your choreography was planned out wisely.” Mingyu tips his chin to reveal his hidden and reddened face. “I know you have your doubts about this Danceology entry but let me be the first person to tell you that it’s just as beautiful as you are, Channie.”

In-between his ragged breathing and staccato moans slipping out, Chan can make out the steadiness in Mingyu’s eyes and chemical joy brews inside of him. Maybe it’s the continued praise or the constant friction on his dick or the purposeful hand which knew all the places that really riled him up which pushes him forward by a block towards his high. Perhaps, even stronger, it was the evenness of his tone and confidence in his voice when he called Chan ‘beautiful’ like he meant it, like he was dying to say it for the longest time, that pushes him miles and miles to the very summit. 

Either way, his penis can’t take it any longer. “H-hyung… ca-can I come?”

“Of course, you can, baby,” Mingyu concurs with a gentle nibble on his ear. “Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

Permission is a cock ring that finds its way out of his girth. The sensation had been manageable up to this point but earning a direct order is what tips him over. It’s a meaningful flick of the hips, a languid massage on his ass, a heated embrace on his pebbled nubs, a deep kiss on his forehead, and a wrecked murmur of, “Co-coming…” that blasts off the cap of his bottle. A breathy moan precedes him as hot, sticky cum pours out of his slit in round-after-round of blinding pleasure. Each pulsing of his aching cock sends shivers up and down his spine and Chan is glad to remember he wore his white boxer briefs tonight because it would be a bitch to clean on any other color.

And he stands corrected. Chan’s going to build a fucking kingdom for such Mingyu-creating deity having experienced the fruit of their labor in the form of an earthshaking orgasm. Bless them and their flock.

Between Chan’s bated breaths attempting to catch up with him, Mingyu sets away the device to cup the younger’s face and trace away the trail of wetness there. A hand migrates to the small of the dancer’s back, careful rubbing motions there while awaiting the latter’s recovery. “You did so well for me, baby. So, so pretty,” he whispers alongside other words of praise.

“Thank you, hyung,” the younger mumbles. Chan attaches himself to the broad chest in front of him, breathing in his love until he has his fill. To his side, the final Danceology video clocks out and silence besets them. It’s tranquil, the way he knows it’s only the two of them sharing this moment. Though it does little to pacify the wildness roaring inside of him. While sincerity may have their sovereignty, he just has to make sure it wasn’t a spur of the moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Channie.”

He hesitates a beat, embarrassment over his doubts phasing his confidence, before the crashing realization hits him that he just came for Mingyu and that there’s absolutely no such thing as ‘shame’ between them. “Did you mean what you said just then, hyung?” he whispers as if being heard would sentence him to death.

Mingyu, however, doesn’t wait a second mull it over. “Every single word of it. I wouldn’t have said if I didn’t mean it,” he confirms with his classic smile. The younger’s stomach is overrun with errant butterflies. “You’re beautiful and anyone in their right mind would agree with me.”

Hearing the word and his name in the same sentence isn’t a familiar scenario for him, but Chan opens his heart a little bit to make room for it. Maybe it’s the catalyst he needs to set off another chain reaction in the near future. Heck, it’s already working wonders back into his limp member. “I guess I never thought I was until you told me,” he whispers, eyes piercing holes into the damp night shirt.

There’s a soft exhale on his head that ushers in a chin finding purchase there. “I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you sooner, baby. You know how the hyungs are with their teasing.” They laugh into another, reminiscent of their group’s indescribable dynamics. “I’m certain they’ll never say this out loud but they’re proud of you, too, and I know they admire your growth,” Mingyu explains.

Chan nods and chews on his bottom lip. “You also said something else earlier.”

The older hums, prompting him to continue with a smooth palm rubbing his sides.

“You also said that you love me.” He blushes tomato red as if he were forced to admit his deepest, darkest secret. Which he kind of is.

Another hum. Mingyu’s eyes soften and smiles akin to his lips. “Would that be the worst thing?”

Aaaand that’s another myocardial infarction. The younger is quick to clarify, shaking his head faster than his own pulse. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then can you explain how it _really_ is for hyung, baby?”

He’s going to have list down pet names in his list of kryptonite (added alongside baby otter videos and Apink merchandise) because there’s no other way to explain how every ounce of confidence leaves his body at the calling. “It’s just that… I’m also… because…”

Mingyu chuckles, indulgent and patient amidst the obvious bewilderment of his companion. “Use your words, Channie.”

Chan leans against the rapper’s chest, eyes pointed at the finished plate of dinosaur chicken nuggets, before whispering, “I do, too.”

Knuckles graze his skin and reconnect on his back. Above him, the older inches closer and noses through the other’s hairline. “What was that?”

Blushing a deep crimson, the younger gulps down the growing lump and steadies the shiver in his tone. Chan only gets to reveal his affections once every reptilian feeding cycle, so he wants to make this time count. “I s-said that ‘I love you, too.’”

“Come again now?” Mingyu oh-so innocently asks.

“I said that,” he begins, sighing a bit at the frustration of repeating himself for something of this magnitude, and mumbles, “I love you, too, hyung.”

Rubbing at his own ears, the older then cups there to amplify the volume. “You’re going to have raise your voice.”

Chan stomps his feet, balling the hem of his shirt and turning to meet the rapper’s yearning to reveal, “I _said_ that I love you, too, hyung!”

At the raised vocalization, Mingyu guffaws with a matching backward head bop to add to the amusement. “I heard you the first time, baby.”

“What?” he harrumphs, both from indignation and because of the fact that he hasn’t been turned away for his reciprocation. “You’re such a jerk for making me repeat myself like that! I hate you,” he cries, pounding on the others’ biceps but without any force behind it.

“You don’t mean that,” Mingyu counters with a giggle, “You just told me you loved me. And I,” he continues, bopping the younger’s nose, “love you, too.”

Chan wants to frown, or scowl if he could, but his heart is too elated to force his muscles to work that way. Instead, he allows his lips to curve like it’s wanted to for the longest time (and like the traitor they always are), the older following suit. Awkward would be an appropriate word for how they continue to beam at each other, and there’s a strain on his neck from having to look up, but it’s all worth it having to see Korea’s most beautiful smile and knowing that it’s for him.

After a while, the awkwardness of the moment catches up to them, and they laugh into one another. Chan preens at all their points of contact and how secure he feels in the grasp of such strong arms. He’s fairly certain the older can be a mug cozy in another, inanimate lifetime.

That is if mug cozies could form solid erections that poke at his belly.

“Can I kiss you, baby?” is a breathy amalgamation of words that tickles his senses. The sheepishness in the voice catches him off guard given the rapper’s unbleached charisma, but his chest inflates with moxie knowing how he could be the cause of the bleaching. And, really, that’s all he needs.

On tipped toes, Chan escalates to match Mingyu’s height and loops his hand around his neck to cement himself. The connection is instantaneous. At first, it’s a gentle peck, untraceable even if he wasn’t being observant. But the succeeding one is a little more certain, more sanguine. Their noses get in the way and he contemplates removing the organ altogether and losing his sense of smell in favor of the plush and luscious muscles relaxing and contracting against his, pliant and warm. The wet squelching sounds of their mouths as he opens more readily, moaning his agreement and pleasure into the older. The overwhelming sight of _the_ Kim Mingyu, all curves and edges in all the right places, straining his erratic heartbeat. And the taste of their midnight snack, interacting with the rapper’s choice of cinnamon-flavored toothpaste, is sweet and savory in ways that make his tongue tingle and he wants to lap up said toothpaste and mix it with the older’s cum.

There’s a gentle prod on his bottom lip, almost as if asking for permission. Without hesitation, Chan permits him entrance and the tongue explores his oral cavity before reaching deeper to intertwine with the other. He groans and it’s instantly consumed. And it’s messy, the way their lips smack and their tongues roll as if dying for another taste. But it’s also tender, how Mingyu holds the small of his back with one hand and caresses his curves with the other, slow and poignant, as if he were something precious.

Chan instinctively whines when they part for a breath only to be compensated with a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. His fingers are balmy from where they smooth through the dark tufts on the older’s nape, but he keeps himself planted there, (im)patiently waiting for session number two.

“You’re good at that,” Mingyu comments.

A ghost of a smirk departs his features. “You, too.” Of course, Chan knows how to kiss. He didn’t practice with the back of his hand for years like some sexually deprived teenager to do it half-assed. He has _standards_. “Can we do that again?”

The older chuckles, “Someone liked their sample of the Mingyu loving?”

Warmth swirls in his cheeks, both from agreement and second-hand embarrassment over whatever the fuck ‘Mingyu loving’ is. Nevertheless, he turns away when he nods.

“Always a pleasure to service a beauty such as yourself,” he gloats, readjusting the dancer’s bangs.

 _Pfft, what a line_ , Chan thinks as his stomach curls into knots at the praise. Ah, the dichotomy. “So, can we get to that now?” he asks, voice slightly rushed.

Another laugh. “We will in a moment,” he reassures. With his finger travelling to the curl of the other’s eyes, he inspects the last traces of tears. “But first, I want to know how you are. You feeling any better?”

He contemplates it for a moment, bearing his ear to the shallow beating inside Mingyu’s chest. By all means, his mood improved exponentially and there’s a renewed sense of confidence within him after the admission of the words left unspoken. But he has a primal urge rebuilding in his body’s geography. Specifically, Penis Tower at the city’s underbelly. 

His brain blares with signals, driving him to touch the older, feel him in ways that he could previously only think about. Explore the tan skin that Mingyu keeps hidden under layers of hideous pajamas and navigate his course between plains of firm muscles, learning which areas make his toes curl and understanding how much pressure is required to make him howl with pleasure. 

And maybe get a taste of his cock, but whatever.

Chan gingerly shakes his head and Mingyu frowns. “What’s wrong, baby? Is there still something bothering you?” The rapper takes the perplexing silence as concurrence and continues, “Is it anything I can help you with?”

“Definitely something you can help with,” he mumbles, still averting direct eye contact like doing so would unmask his hidden agenda.

“Then tell me, Channie. You know your hyung only wants to help you.”

He whines at the third-person personal referral, shaking his head a second time. _Why was that such a turn-on_ , he ponders. Something about dominion and ascendancy.

A hand climbs to outline his jaw before tipping his chin to join their gazes and his breathing hitches. Mingyu’s brows furrow earnestly and his eyes are filled with so much concern and the younger just wants to wreck him. “You don’t have to hold anything back with me. I’m here for you all the way, alright?”

 _All the way, huh_? That puts things into perspective. “I guess there’s only one more thing bothering me.”

“What is it, baby?”

“Well… it’s just…” Chan takes a deep breath. He can’t believe he’s doing this. “Promise you’ll keep an open mind about what I’m about to say?”

Mingyu’s features soften as he pledges with his free hand. “I promise. Like I said earlier, you can tell me anything, yeah? And I swear I won’t judge. I only want to make sure you feel good.”

He flashes a sheepish grin, erring to the side of subtlety before he smashes it with his intentions. “And I…” he gulps down, releasing his grip to navigate a hand in between their shared bodies, “want to make you feel good, too, hyung.” With confidence, he palms the older purposefully, crooking his digits in a faux grip to draw it out.

As he expected, Mingyu hisses, cocking his head back with a choked curse. Instantaneously, the rapper holds him tighter. The older chuckles, smirking at the brazenness. “Are you trying to tell me something, baby?”

“I-I want you inside me, hyung.”

“Fuck,” he responds, unable to repress the growl in his voice. Except it comes out more like a puppy’s bark and Chan fails to conceal his body’s natural response, laughing. “Why are you laughing?” Mingyu inquires, pouting.

“Was that supposed to be a growl?”

“It was supposed to be sexy,” the other contends, earning another uproar from the dancer. “H-hey! Stop laughing!”

Chan hides his amusement behind his hands, the sound slipping with his innate volume. “I-I’m sorry,” he manages between exhalations, “but that was just too cute, hyung!”

“I wasn’t trying to be cute! The bark just slipped.”

The younger shudders with giggles, his foot gleefully stomping. “I’m surprised you don’t make more puppy impressions during fanmeets. You’d do an amazing Clifford impersonation.”

Mingyu frowns, expression monochromatic. “That’s it, I’m going to bed.” He releases his embrace and turns on his heels, Chan barely able to contain his laughter long enough to catch the older’s wrist.

“Wait, hyung, I was just kid-“

It happens in the blink of an eye. A messy clash of teeth and saliva, Mingyu’s lips pumping against his less timidly and more animalistic. The younger stiffens initially before his knees turn into jelly. As soon as his lips part, the older swoops in with a determined tongue, claiming every single breath Chan has to offer. Any drop of laughter left in his system is literally being sucked out of him. 

Fingers clutch at the hem of his shirt and he’s quick to nod. Without a second to lose, sleek hands explore the stretch of skin hidden underneath. His waist, his spine, his curves, they know exactly where to go and the right motions that make Chan absolutely putty. The dancer is unsure of what to do with himself seeing Mingyu completely control, so he buckles himself in position, locking his hands back around the other’s neck. He hoists himself with a looped leg on the older’s and every point of contact is heated and passionate and his cock’s energy is renewed.

“Min-Mingyu hyung,” he staggers while reclaiming his breathing. The rapper sucks on his bare neck, undoubtedly marking his territory, but Chan _loves_ it.

As he releases his teeth from the skin, he peppers each bruise with gentle kisses, trailing his way up to the shell of Chan’s ear. This time, there’s no mistaking the growl in his voice. The younger shudders. “Still think I’m trying to be cute, baby?”

He gulps down on a lump, nervous yet excited at the evening’s progression. The older slaps his ass, Chan shrieking more from surprise rather than pain. He’s quick to shake his head, warmth reddening his cheeks.

“Very good, Channie,” he praises, sharing a gentle peck. “What do you say we take this somewhere more private, hmm?”

Chan’s eyes nearly fall out of its socket. “R-really?”

“Of course. Didn’t you say you wanted to make me feel good, too? I think it would make me feel good if I got to see you laid out on some bedsheets.” 

He whimpers, turning away shamefully over his immodest words. Though he doesn’t get far as Mingyu catches his chin to look at him properly.

“Don’t be ashamed now, baby. I want this just as much as you do,” he consoles, eyes soothing. “Plus, I think you’re a whole lot sexier when you’re being confident. Don’t you think so, too?”

Chan nods and smiles gingerly. “I think so, too, hyung.”

“That’s the spirit!” the older gleams, reclaiming his lips for another kiss. The movements are deeper and he raves when Mingyu tugs on his bottom lip over and over. When they part, he warns with a suggestive brow, “Are you ready for this, baby?”

“Ready for wha-“

Before he can finish the thought, Mingyu carries him from his bum, repositioning slightly to bear the weight from the younger’s thighs. Naturally, Chan wraps his legs around the older’s waist and perches his chin atop broad shoulders. “As much as I enjoy making out with you out here so that everyone knows who you belong to, I want this moment all to myself,” he flaunts, turning on his heels and departing from the kitchen.

“I don’t think we can go to my room, hyung,” Chan warns, “I haven’t had the chance to tidy up yet.”

Mingyu merely smirks at that. “I wasn’t planning on going there. I want _your_ beautiful body on _my_ sheets.”

His breathing goes haywire at the acclamation. “W-what about Wonwoo hyung?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s always spending the night at Junhui hyung’s room anyways,” he clarifies, maneuvering into the hallway. “It’s like I have the room all to myself.”

Chan nods in understanding. Cats are known to mate about ten to twenty times a day when they’re in heat and boy was the practice room always heated with those two around. 

“Guess I’ll have my own visitor coming over more often, huh?”

He blushes even deeper at the suggestion. Wanting to broach the topic further, he opens his mouth only for a muffled groan to pop out when Mingyu accidentally crashes into the doorframe.

“Sorry!” the older atones.

The pain, however, is short-lived and he’s quickly engulfed by a soft mattress and a familiar earthy-citrus musk, smelling too much like fresh laundry and two-hundred-pound deadlifts, both things that make him swoon (don’t ask about the laundry).

Mingyu makes quick work of undressing him, removing his sweats and underwear in one quick motion and discarding them to the side. The older brings a packet of wet wipes and picks out a couple to clean up the remnants of earlier’s fiasco. “Someone’s a bit excited. You’re already hard again, baby.”

Chan can only wince once the cool of the towel brushes his thighs, slowly inching their way to his eruption. “Mmm, I can’t help it,” he whispers, biting his tongue to curve the temptation to buck his hips up and seek friction. 

It suddenly dawns onto him that’s naked, save for his sweaty shirt, in front of the man he’s been pining over for years. The thought alone deepens his systemic blush, his skin redder than a pretentious sports car, and he blocks his vision out with a forearm. 

He grips the sheets once the towel climbs his length, his knuckles white with how slow he knows the fucker is going just to get a reaction out of him. “H-hyung… please don’t tease.”

The literal cock tease chuckles. “I’m not teasing you, baby. It’s called being _thorough_. If I wanted to tease you, I would have done this.”

“ _Fuck_!” he yelps as the older swabs a thumb on his slit once, twice, thrice. The motion is done almost leisurely, as if Mingyu were talking about the color of the sky or the perfect temperature for baking a cake and not stimulating the thousands of nerves that transform his bones to porridge. “Hyung, please…”

The rapper barely spares him a glance, his focus solely on the flick of his thumb and the palm holding down the younger’s thighs. “Please what, Channie?”

“I wa- _Ah_!-want…” he stutters, his toes curling and heart racing.

“Want what?”

Mingyu earnestly pumps his cock once just to try and it’s enough to send him to the moon. “I want you inside me,” he rushes through the words out of embarrassment and sheer _want_.

As soon as the words exit his lips, the motions stop altogether. The bed creaks due to movement and Chan senses something directly above him. He dares to peek out of hiding only to see Mingyu looming over him, both arms to his sides and caging him in. The older looks less composed than he was led to believe, pupils dilated beyond repair and heaving him in like a scented candle. The rapper cradles his face before leaning in for a kiss.

He can’t recall exactly how many kisses they’ve shared this evening but, each time their lips align, Chan loses himself in the music. The tenor of his mewls and the deep baritone of Mingyu’s groans. The thumping of his heart and the scratch of the hand that caresses his back. Pleasure-rich legato notes pour out of him and Mingyu replies in staccato, prodding and twisting his tongue in the other’s mouth. 

“The things you do to me, baby,” he murmurs when they part for a breath. “Let’s get you out of this, hmm?” He gestures to Chan’s shirt and awaits approval. Once the younger nods, he rids him of his top, removing his own in succession.

Chan has to slap himself at the mountain range presented to him. He always knew how much Mingyu worked out, but he was never the ‘show-and-tell’ kind-of person when it came to his body. Now, he knows why. If kids were to see this at a talent show, no patron would walk out of there without a nosebleed. “You’re so… huge.”

Mingyu smirks, canines cute amidst the seduction. “Right back at you, baby,” he returns, eyes switching between his head and the other head down south. He lowers his voice to the most basal of registers. “And that’s just my chest. Aren’t you a little curious to see just how big the rest of me is?”

He shivers from head to toe, his body preemptively sore after a brief foresight of future events.

With a parting kiss, the older makes his way down Chan’s naked body, laving and lapping up the skin along his trail. He inhales the scent on his neck before sucking on a hardened nub, teeth grazing on the areola. Chan bucks up, his dick twitching at the stimulation, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to sneak a hand behind his back. Both hand and mouth travel further south, outlining the gentle curves of the younger’s body.

Mingyu nips on the inside of his thighs, a mixture of grip and bite, close to the jackpot yet not quite there yet. “Fuck, you’re so thick, baby. Makes me want to eat you all up.”

“ _Yes, yes, yes_ ,” he chants, voice hoarse. “Anything you w-want, hyung.”

“I never thought that seeing you so needy would make you so much more attractive,” the rapper admits. His massive hands knead his ass, claiming the mass with a taut grip. A finger tests the waters, breaching the tight ring of muscles high and dry.

The dancer bucks up, his neglected cock leaking all over his stomach. He reaches out for the older, imploring him for something greater, “Hyu-hyung… I-I want you inside, please.”

“Shh, I know, Channie,” the older soothes, claiming his hand and sending a reassuring squeeze. “Let me prep you first, alright? I don’t want to hurt you. Can you reach over for the condom and lube in the drawer over there?”

The younger takes a tentative breath to ground himself and nods. While the rapper focuses on removing his pajama pants, Chan explores the topmost drawer of the nightstand with owlish eyes. The items hidden there are more than just for lubrication. He tries to avoid staring at the assortment of silk ties and handcuffs, and most especially not the enormous fleshlight (which he can only assume is an extra-large size, if such an item existed), and picks out the friendliest items of the bunch, slamming the drawer shut for good measure. 

“Saw anything you liked in there?”

Chan flinches, nearly throwing his wares out of surprise. “I w-wasn’t-“

“You’re cute,” Mingyu comments, stealing a peck before extracting the items from Chan’s hands. “If you’re so inclined to explore those, feel free to pick out whatever you like whenever you want. Or, better yet, we can try them out together in the future,” the older arches a brow.

 _There it is again_ , he notes. “Will there really be a second time, hyung?”

“And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Maybe even a hundredth time and beyond. It’s all up to you, Channie.”

“I want to,” he declares too excitedly, blushing at the realization. “I-I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

The rapper’s eyes soften, climbing up until their chests align. He sketches out the younger’s jaw, clasping on the bone and connecting their lips for a deeper and slower kiss. Chan whines when Mingyu retracts, the latter shaking his head fondly with a follow-up at the curve of the former’s lips. “It’s more than okay with me, baby. I brought you here for a reason and it’s more than just for a tumble under the sheets.”

The dancer nods, heart bouncing in its place. They don’t have to say the words, but he’s desperately immersed in it. He reaches over for a butterfly kiss and his own butterflies disperse. Though the same action causes their erections to meet up and it ceases to be all that delicate. 

“Right,” Mingyu exhales, faceplanting on the younger’s chest. “Let’s go deal with that first before we get all touchy feely.”

Chan’s giggles die with his resolve as the older returns to his earlier position, licking around the head on the way down. “ _Ah_! Feels good, Mingyu hyung…”

“That’s the goal, baby,” he grins. A click of the bottle resounds, and he laces a finger with lube. Gently, Mingyu massages the tight knot on the dancer’s gluteus while the liquid warms up on his digit. 

The younger gulps down when he sees the finger approach his entrance, throwing caution to the wind and gripping onto a nearby pillow. There’s an initial tingle that exponentially intensifies as Mingyu feels around his sphincter at an agonizing pace, blatantly breaking his promise of entering him sooner. Chan has to hold himself from showing the other just how strong he can kick. “You said you were g-going to prep me…”

“I am. This is like preparing a proper performance. No step can be rushed. Are we becoming a little impatient now?”

“N-no, I just-“

And like that, the rapper breaches the ring of muscles all the way past the middle phalanx. The younger gasps out at the intrusion, back arching. “You know, I don’t really like following orders, but for you, I’m going to make an exception. How do you like this?” The finger becomes a little adventurous, probing his walls and seeking with a curl to its step.

Pleasure wells up in his belly, his skin feverish to the touch. His toes curl and his words transform into lust drunken rambles. “Closer… closer… closer… _Ohhh_!”

“You’re going to have to give me feedback here,” Mingyu breezes by, his finger approaching special territory. “Tell me how you want it, baby.”

He sputters and breathes through his nose, his mouth perpetually open and releasing the tension that uncoils in waves of building crescendo. Maybe he should be a little embarrassed at how affected he is with a mere digit inside him, but something about the older’s touch is electrifying and exciting. 

“Channie,” he singsongs, “I asked you a question.”

His grip on the sheets tighten and the pallor of his hands contrast the piercing red of his skin. Sweat condenses on his forehead with how close he knows the rapper is to a special bundle of nerves and how it takes every fiber of his being to resist ramming himself to fruition. 

Mingyu chortles, clearly enjoying how far gone the other is. “Come on now. Where’s your enthusiasm, baby? Humor your hyung a little!”

“I-I-I-“ he stutters then screams when the long digit curls over the right spot, feeling on the surface of his prostate. Waves of blinding ecstasy wash over him as Mingyu abuses the nerve and the flow of pre-cum out of his stretched-out cock is obscene. “ _Yes, yes, yes_!”

Though, as soon as the momentum picks up, they halt altogether. “Are you really not going to give me an answer?” The finger lies dormant by his entrance, half-derailing his brain and half-sunbathing under fluorescent light.

“Why’d y-you stop?” Chan inquires, slightly petulant after being denied what he’s been wishing for. A testy emotion overrides his senses, and he kicks Mingyu’s bicep with ire. “You’re such a tease, hyung!”

“You really enjoy calling me that though you’ve clearly never met a true tease, have you?” When Chan remains unresponsive, Mingyu furrows a brow, staring him down with mischief. He bathes two more digits in lubricant, setting the bottle aside casually before firmly inserting them inside the younger.

“ _Ahhh_!” His heart rate climaxes, as fast as the signals that shoot up and down his spine. Chan waits for their next moves, but they only remain in their spot, stretching him open but never acting. It’s almost as if they’re window shopping.

“ _This_ is what a tease is like, baby.” The three fingers begin to protrude, stretching out his hole and adding pressure to his weakened sphincter. Carefully, Mingyu adds a thumb and the four fingers collaborate to space him out. But they just remain there.

And like a specimen under observation, Chan can’t help but hide at his shameless moans, the way his mouth refuses to shut in response to all the incitement. It’s a delicious first bite and now he wants the whole three-course meal. He stutters hips, desperately trying to let the fingers in deeper, but Mingyu simply scoffs with a click to his tongue. 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, baby.”

“Hyung, please… I-I’m ready! Please…”

The older shakes his head, pursing his lips in feign noncompliance. “Nothing I can do, sadly. Apparently, I was too much of a tease.”

Tears pool in the corner of his eyes, his breathing shallow and restless. “I didn’t mean it like that-“

“And, you know,” he interrupts, his fingers twisting and beating around the bush, “I didn’t say a peep when you used me earlier to take the edge off. And you even ate up all the compliments I gave you! Let’s face it – you’re a little spoiled, baby.”

Chan attempts to pout but his muscles won’t cooperate. “I’m n-not spoiled.”

Mingyu grins, indulgent and so full of shit. Chan wants to kick him, but he concedes. Maybe at a later time. “And it’s not a bad thing, sweetheart. Like I said, I like spoiling people.” To exemplify, the older leans in to lick a stripe along his entire length and it’s _heavenly_. “All I ask is that you don’t call me a tease when I just want to do this _my_ way. Understood, baby?”

He nods to which the rapper growls, appeased with the submission. The fingers on standby breach inwards by a fraction, causing him to howl. “Yes!”

“That’s what I want to hear.” Mingyu bites into the meat of his thighs, leaving purples and blues in his wake as he ascends to the areola, the neck, then to the shell of Chan’s ears. “Now, baby, why don’t you indulge your hyung a little? Just a little something so I know I’m giving you nothing but the best.”

Chan has to gulp down, loving how the older’s deep timbre can make him quiver with longing. “Anything for you, hyung.”

“Tell me exactly what it is you want,” he implores, smirking at the twinkle in the younger’s eyes. “That’s right, Channie. But on one condition – I want to know how well I’m treating you.”

“H-how?”

“It can be anything, really. A moan, a scream, a tight grip on my arm, a call of my name, or maybe even an arch of the back. I’m not picky. I just need to know that my baby’s enjoying.”

The younger tempers his breathing, growing accustomed to the stretch on his entrance. He furrows his brows. “Why, hyung?”

With his free hand, Mingyu fans through Chan’s dark fringe, placing a fleeting kiss on the exposed temples. He pulls back for their eyes to meet when he says, smiling purposefully, “I want to see you beg for me, pleading for every bit of me to eat you all up. I want to hear you screaming with just how well I’m fucking you. Do you think you’re the only one between us who enjoys hearing praise?”

And there it is, Mingyu’s hard-on for praise. The sole reason for Mingyu’s venture into photography, modelling, cooking, and every other known boyfriend-worthy talent in ‘The Extensive Book of Erections and How to Cause Them’ (or TEBEHCT, pronounced like ‘Tibet’ for simplicity). He hit that assumption right smack on the bullseye.

Though, who is Chan to judge him for that? Heathen number one literally humped himself into euphoria’s garden with heathen number two’s immaculate and firm dick concealers just a few moments ago all because of some well-targeted compliments. Hypocrisy, thy name is Lee Chan.

He runs his tongue along his cracked lips, finding a voice of (t)reason. “I want y-you to finger me deeper, hyung.”

“Is that _all_ you want?”

“I-I also want you to feel my prostate,” he mumbles, hardly cognizant that he’s speaking actual words.

Mingyu claims his lips, gnawing at the bottom swell. “That’s right, baby. Be as specific as you need to be. Let hyung take care of you.”

With that, the older descends, situating himself right above Chan’s cock. He retracts a finger and the thumb, utilizing the prowess of two digits to take the reins for now. He draws them back to the tip before fearlessly diving in, in hot pursuit of their target. They alternate roles, a seeker and a curler, both fingers working wonders stretching him out and claiming their territory. 

Chan claws on the sheets, grounding himself from the heaven-sent sensations. The movements grow bolder, extending and curling and-

“ _Ah! Shit, right there_!”

The rapper smirks, amused at his discovery. “Found what I was looking for, it seems. Now, baby, what do you want me to do with it?”

“P-please stroke it again, hyung…” And the reaction is instantaneous. His back arches with how potent the flourish is, knowingly exactly where to brandish and swing. Except, the action is singular. He looks over to the older, the latter eyeing him over expectantly. 

“Like I said, Channie, you’re going to have to be specific with me here,” he grins devilishly. “The key is in the details.”

He whines, dreading how he literally has to work to get how he wants. Yet, he can’t bring himself to complain. “Again, please,” he concedes, receiving another brush in response. “Again,” _stroke_. “Again,” _prod_. “Again,” _hit_. Chan’s mouth hangs and repeats the word like a mantra. All the while wave after wave of ecstasy crash into him, his heart rattling and his stomach tumbling like a wash cycle. 

Mingyu sucks on his abdomen, claiming the land from the trail to the top with marks intended to last. He takes further initiative, returning the third digit to the mix and stretching him out even further. “That’s right, baby. Let all your words out. Tell me how much you’re enjoying this.”

The younger is a sputtering mess of assents and demands, thighs flexing and ass clenching in a shameless need to feel friction on his aching cock. His initial plan was to make the older’s toes curl, but he supposes doing that himself is consolation enough. “So good, hyung… yo- _Oh!_ -you’re doing so well…”

The rapper growls, kissing then biting into the meat of his thighs. “Fuck, I could just eat you all up. Keep talking, Channie. Indulge me some more.”

The tripartite tool abusing his prostate remains unrelenting and each flick pushes him closer and closer to his high. If playing along is what earns him all this special treatment, then he’s going to do his damnedest. “You’re stretching m-me out so wide, Min-Mingyu hyung,” he stutters, his hole being shutterfucked into the next dimension. “I-I can’t wait to feel you inside me…”

The other snarls and bares his canines, working his way towards the junction of his legs. Chan wails at the dual assault and his skin boils in a feverish rush. He attempts to roll his hips upward, but the older keeps him there with his free hand. _I have to do more_ , the surmises.

“Faster, please… I can’t wa-wait to have your cock inside me,” he pleads with a scratchy voice, tone rash. “Don’t you want to sla- _Ah!_ -slam into me until I see stars?”

Beyond all explanations, the older has some sense of reason left in him as he reminds, “Sweetheart, don’t rush me. I need to prep you first; I don’t want to hurt you,” he claims, though his piercing gaze yells an entire bulldozer up the younger’s ass. 

Chan gripes, playfully kicking. “I’m r-ready, hyung! I’m ready!” The dancer peers over, sensing the logic still encroaching the other’s eyes, and pulls out his trump card. “Come on! I want to ride your thick di-dick already… until I’m screaming and can’t da-dance for days. I just want to feel full of you, Mingyu hyung.”

That seems to work its magic. The rapper’s eyes dilate further, a far cry from the soft vessels that he witnessed earlier. Mingyu climbs to hover over the younger, sizing him up as if he were prey about to be ravaged by a starved and vicious predator. Chan can’t wait. “You make some pretty specific demands. It’s a good thing that I’ve taught you well.” He snatches a chaste kiss, perhaps the final bout of continence for this evening, and bares Chan’s neck to bite into the skin. “Watch yourself get what you asked for. Feel full of me, baby.”

The room is drowned out in mixtures of whimpers and agreement, high-pitched mewls interspersed with baritone-deep growls. Mingyu pounds into him with four massive digits, further exposing his anus to the outside environment, and catches the bundle of nerves with every swipe. 

Chan is left to spasm, hands erratically searching between sheets and skin for anything to grip, while his hips buck up into the older’s thigh. The feeling is of nostalgic summer beaches. “Yes, yes, yes, _fuck_ , just like that, hyung! You’re so, so a-amazing. Treating me so well…”

Mingyu smirks, claiming his lips in a heated and messy kiss, sucking all the air and desire out of him. It’s a clash of teeth and tongue and Chan releases all his moans into the stew, purely wanton and never wonton. With his giant hands, Mingyu squeezes on the younger’s ass, fisting the taut muscles and hailing them higher. 

When his shaft catches along the older’s abs, Chan groans hoarsely into the kiss. The contact is sticky from his pre-cum, but it adds a layer of lubricant that delivers a new feeling of drag. In his dazed state, the dancer’s hand reaches out to grasp on the other’s rocket, wanting nothing more than to have it blast off inside him already.

“Fuck, Chan!” the older howls, to which the other sheepishly grins, blushing deep crimson. “You have to warn me before you do that. You can’t just do stuff like that and expect me to stay calm.” Inspecting the damages, Mingyu returns a gaze with a bemused smile. “Your hand is so tiny, sweetheart.”

“It’s not!” he defends. He’s not really sure why he feels indignant, but it felt like the proper reaction.

The rapper grins, “That’s not a bad thing, baby. It’s a bit small and cute like you and I love that.”

Chan manages a smile, amidst of course the barbershop quartet singing tunes in his ass and the labored breathing that weighs on his heart rate. “It’s small, but it knows what t-to do.” He fastens his grip, giving Mingyu a determined and feisty couple of pumps. The grunts the older lets out are worth the struggle, more so since Chan can barely conjoin his fingers with how chunky the mass is in his grasp.

“If your hand is this small, I can only imagine how tight it must feel when I finally thrust into your tiny hole,” Mingyu ponders, finally recomposed. He claims Chan’s hand from his member, lacing their fingers together and pinning them above him, and takes him in stride.

The chase is anything but subtle. Chan is a sweaty, boneless remnant of his former self, moaning at every point of contact between them. Tears run down the sides of his eyes as Mingyu abuses his prostate in earnest, pleasure bursting like fireworks that taint his skin the flashiest of reds. His laced hand grips tighter while his free hand claws on the sheets to avoid jerking himself into completion. 

The older anticipates his rush and thrusts his hip into Chan’s twitching cock, enticing more delicious mewls from him. With every movement, every sensation, the dancer runs faster and faster towards the finish line and loses his ability to filter his desires.

“More, daddy, more! Feels s-so good!” Chan slips, though he has no regrets when Mingyu appears to enjoy the title, the actions becoming increasingly erratic. “I want you inside me, daddy! I-I’m…”

“Give me more, Channie. I want more. I want you to _beg_ for me.”

Voice gruff, he pleads for anything and everything. “ _Please, please, please_! Faster, faster…” Goosebumps litter his skin, releasing the heat of his body’s furnace. Mingyu’s tongue laves at his bare neck and continues his masterpiece of blues on melanin, loving every airy gasp that comes out of the dancer. “Clo-close, daddy, I’m so close! I don’t think I’m go-going to make it. I want, I want, I want…” his thoughts trail off into the motions of hour, driving so far up him that he swears even his stomach is turned on. 

The rapper kisses the words out of him, parting only to stare back at the younger with hyper dilated eyes. “Tell hyung what you want, baby.”

“Come! I want to co-come, hyung,” he whimpers as he purposefully restricts his orgasm, a subconscious part of him wanting Mingyu’s permission. “I-I’ve been a good boy, daddy… Y- _Oh!_ -you’ve been spreading me o-open so well and now I want to come, please!”

Mingyu’s wicked grin takes him by surprise, his body shivering when the older whispers, “As long as you can tell everyone in the dorm who made you come.”

And, with that, he screams at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking at the pitch of every _Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu_ that he chants as white, hot ropes of cum shoot out of him in surges of desire, gratification, then refraction. His bark arches, connecting his stuttering dick into firm muscle and enticing more material to be paid forward. Chan isn’t even apologetic that it lands mostly on the older’s washboard. In a way, he surmises, he’d marked his territory.

While Chan recovers, Mingyu loosens his grip above him and allows his delicate hand to card through the latter’s hair. “So, so beautiful, Channie. You always know how to put on a show.”

“Thank you, daddy,” he mumbles mindlessly, his breathing still uneven, until it hits him back like a baseball bat. “So-sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that-“

The older cracks an indulgent grin, stealing a hasty peck. “Don’t be. I think I like that even more than ‘hyung,’ if I’m being honest.” Caging him in, Mingyu inspects him, taking cursory glances at every nook and cranny for any signs of harm. Chan blushes dusty pink with amour. “How are you, baby? Was I too rough with you?”

He’s quick to shake his head, looping his noodle-like arms around the other’s neck and wanting his proximity. “I really enjoyed it, daddy. Even when you were kind of a tease.”

“Hey!”

Chan chuckles, “You were amazing, too. Thank you.” He nearly zones out with the flash of Mingyu’s adorable canines and at the amiable massage of his scalp, but the fact of the matter is that there is still another unrattled rattler pressing pointedly between his thighs and he’s in that place where he really wants to change some adjectives. “Hyung, you’re still hard.”

“I’m… aware,” he grunts when Chan flexes his muscles, leering back with knives and daggers. “We don’t have to do anything about it if you don’t want to.”

“What are you talking about, hyung? Of course, I want to do something about it. Didn’t I tell you earlier that I wanted to make you feel good, too?” he declares with esteem. He’s unsure where this sudden well of confidence popped out of but all his cash is betting on the second post-nut clarity.

“You really are something special, Channie,” he breathes through his nose as if keeping in a secret. The secret being Mingyu’s creamy white chocolate mousse recipe. 

Chan’s motorboat mind blinks with a faulty lightbulb. “Hyung, you can say no to this, but…” he masks a cough and averts his eyes, “can I suck you off, please?”

An enamored Mingyu scoffs without the bite, shaking his head fondly. “You really are going to kill me one of these days.” He cups the dancer’s cheek, thumb fanning over apple red lips. “I don’t think I would last long if you did and I was sort of planning on doing other things before twisting the cap off. So, why don’t we try something else, instead?”

With prior approval, the rapper scoops up the viscous remains on his abs with two fingers and presents them to Chan. 

“Suck,” is the order and the younger thinks it over for as long as Seungkwan’s patience. Exactly a half-second. 

Bitterly salty would be the best way to describe the taste, yet there’s a fruity aftertaste that lingers knowing that what he’s eating belongs to _him_. Chan’s eyes shut on their own accord, his tongue working his way above, about, and around the thick digits. 

The fingers sink further down his oral cavity, resting just on the swell before his throat. Mingyu takes the opportunity to explore his body, peppering kisses on every unseasoned portion of muscle. 

“Look at how fit you’ve gotten, Channie. I never thought that your body would turn out this way, but you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Soothing yet chilling, his free hand travels the outline of Chan’s figure, squeezing the life back _into_ him, if the enthusiasm congregating in his cock was any indication. “Broad shoulders, slim waist, juicy thighs. You’ve been keeping all this away from me and you know I hate secrets.”

Had a pole not been rammed down his throat, he would wholeheartedly oppose such an unevidenced statement. On the contrary, the horny maknae was more than exhaustive in his methods to get the older to see the love letters inked on his naked skin. And, if that included intentionally leaving the bathroom door unlocked whenever he showered, it’s nobody else’s damn business.

“Guess I just need to make up for lost time now,” Mingyu shrugs. “I honestly don’t know how your hands can be this tiny and cute yet your ass is all fat and meaty. You’re fucking gorgeous, baby.” Chan’s body is visibly flustered, goosebumps and trembling legs a visible testament to that, and the older won’t allow it. “Don’t be shy now. Warm up for me, Channie. Let me take care of you.”

Steadily, purple marks find their way around his body as the older kisses – no, _tattoos_ – a trail without a destination. Maybe Chan should be angry at how much concealer he knows he has to use to cover all these up, but all he can think about right now is the story outline that he’s planned out to share with Hansol later. 

Chan all but whimpers as the rapper encircles his special spot with pecks, his receptors and nerves working in tandem with a goal to drive him to euphoria.

“Every bit of you is so beautiful, sweetheart. It’s a wonder you’re not put up for display for everyone to see.” The older catches the younger’s dick twitch with obvious interest and he smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? Everyone seeing your naked body so that they can tell you just how sexy you are and so you can fulfill your exhibitionist fetish? Tell your hyung, hmm?”

All he can muster up is a rosy blush in reply, literally caught with his pants down. Chan had always enjoyed the occasional shirt slip to flex his abs, but he never knew how much he liked the idea of exhibitionism until the older brought it up. His ears burn with the promise of wildfire.

“Well, too bad that that’s never going to happen. Because you’re all mine and no one else gets to see this but me,” Mingyu’s eyes scan him from top-to-bottom before arching a brow. “Understood, baby?”

Chan nods as if his life depended on it. Being Mingyu’s one and only? Maybe destiny was actually twin brother. His happiness expresses itself in the way his tongue and lips find their rhythm around the fingers, blood and warmth piquing in every which direction. 

“Good,” Mingyu grins, mouthing the other’s balls once and never again. Fucking tease. He ghosts around Chan’s dick, easily covering the entire length with the span of his hand. “Look at how hard you are again and all from a little praise. Do you think you can grow a bit harder for your hyung? I think I want to watch an entire encore of nothing but you begging for me while I thrust into your needy hole.”

It’s like a packet of ‘Instant Fantasy: Just Add Mingyu’s Cock!’ His dick goes rock hard, probably the hardest it’s been this entire evening, though throbbing red due to overexertion. Breathing hitched, Chan winces at the sensation, every slight movement of Mingyu’s palm about his shaft transferring his bone’s density to his boner.

“That’s it, baby. This is what I want to see,” the older approves, pumping the base of his palm against the head. The way the dancer’s mouth waters, twitches even, doesn’t go unnoticed. “You know how this works. Tell hyung what you want.”

“You, daddy! I want you inside me!” he bellows once the fingers evacuate his mouth.

“As you wish. You’re getting pretty good at following orders. I always thought you’d be more of the alpha type, baby, but I have to admit,” he rambles on, sheathing himself in latex, lubricates what Chan can only assume is the SLS Block 2 Cargo charting a course into his very own moon, and continues, “there’s something remarkably attractive about your submission.”

If you’d ask Chan what came over him at around 2:35 AM on a clammy Friday night, he probably can’t give you an answer. He’s the type to choose option 3 whenever he guesses on exams, so he blames it on his systematic unpredictability. 

All he knows with relative confidence is that he savors taking the older by surprise, pinning him down on the mattress. That he grins a cheeky grin when he catches the other’s huff of surprise. And that he comes to ultimately regret letting his bratty side win over his rationality when he seats himself to engulf Mingyu’s enormous member all in one go.

“Fuck, Chan!” the older howls as the younger winces and pants, holding himself up on Mingyu’s biceps. The intrusion is a third-degree burn but, with the way he hardly has to adjust for the head to brush against his special bundle of nerves, all his pain is spelled out as ‘pleasureain’.

The dancer is the first back on his metaphorical feet. Chan takes the wheel and clenches around Mingyu experimentally. Instantly, the rapper grips him by the thighs, the hold enough to bruise.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Mingyu grumbles, “Chan, hold on for a moment. Do not fucking- don’t do that. You’re gonna make me come right now if you do.”

“Would that be so bad, daddy?” he flutters his eyelashes in pseudo innocence. 

The older peeks over and smiles, breathing still uneven and sweat dripping down his forehead. “Fuck, you really are going to be the death of me. What do you hope to achieve with all this?”

“I said I-I wanted to ride you, didn’t I? So, here I am.” Chan wets his lips in a way he knows is effective and he catches Mingyu gulp down. “You’ve taken such good care of me so far and I think it’s my turn to return the favor. Plus, I couldn’t resist hopping onto something as big as this, daddy…” 

The sword in its sheath elongates beyond all odds, plunging against his prostate deliciously. Whimpering, clawing, panting, Chan’s entire body strains with the effort required to keep himself elevated. He mulls over how much easier it would be to claim his throne in one simple motion, but he doesn’t want to make the older come, and himself by extension, just yet.

“Give me a moment, won’t you, baby? Need a second to get myself together again,” Mingyu raspy bass pours out. “I want to make this amazing for you, too.”

Now supporting the younger’s weight, the rapper connects their lips in a kiss that makes Chan’s head spin. The sweat that coats their skin mixes and their chests align with every heartbeat. Filthy noises bounce off each corner of the room yet all that registers is the older’s weighted respirations and the sweetest brew of citrus musk.

Adventurous, Chan’s hands lay waste over Mingyu’s fluffy locks, the toughest neckline, the sharp shoulder blade, before he slowly forms a rhythm with his hips. The action isn’t enough to draw out a reaction, but he wants permission to do his part now.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” the older says when they part, eyes swimming with both concern and arousal. 

“Y-yeah, I want it, hyung,” he mumbles haphazardly, already halfway to heaven. “I want _you_.”

Mingyu’s expression softens infinitesimally though it hardly speaks of innocence. More of fondness which is everything Chan could have asked for. “Anything you want, baby. Take the lead and I’ll keep you covered.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to keep you covered?” Chan muses, clenching his sphincter.

The older grits his teeth. “Behave, Channie,” he warns to which the dancer simply shrugs, hips easily finding its rhythm.

Simplicity is the key word to riding Kim Mingyu, he believes. With how deep he’s planted in and the length of the flagpole, the smallest flick of his hips is enough for his prostate to wreck his composition. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be this _full_ and the reminder is heavenly. 

Chan tests the water when he relaxes his thighs, sinking down inches lower. His pre-cum rolls out of him like a stream, steady and plentiful due to the pressure. But he wants it more like a great waterfall, so he lifts his hips up to the head and seats himself back down.

“Shit, Chan!”

“Y-y-yes, daddy!”

He begins slowly, each forced landing with equal intervals. At first, he’s worried Mingyu isn’t enjoying as much as he is, but when the hands bruise his ass and assist in the lifting, he’s reaffirmed of the power of a power bottom. Each movement is electricity and flashes of light, the tingles running through his body and vision blaring white.

Moan after moan tumbles out to meet the growl in the older’s voice. He thinks he’s mentioning something about how Mingyu is a lot larger than Seungcheol and he thinks the reply is something along the lines of ‘I’m so much more than that pup’ with a claiming bite on his neck to cap it off. 

Really, his brain is all scrambled eggs because of the best cock he’s ever had the pleasure of riding. Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Either way, the receptors that line his asshole are fully functional and feel every thrust that the older now adds in. They move in tandem, the dancer’s rock to the rapper’s push, forcing Chan down deeper and tighter.

“Fuck, baby, I love your ass. You’re doing amazing,” Mingyu commends, a burst of energy sparking within the younger. “How can you still be this tight after I prepped you?”

Between his winded pants, he chuckles. “Because yo- _Oh!_ -you’re just _that_ big, daddy.”

The rapper bares his teeth, the thrusts gaining momentum. “So hot and snug inside you. Can’t wait to paint it all up.”

Chan nods, volatile motions like his unyielding hips. “I want it! Please… want your cum in me ‘til I’m leaking.”

“Show it to me, baby. Show hyung how much you want it.”

Where his words fail him, his passion takes over. Each affirmation is a clench, every desire is a roll of the hips. In return, he’s greeted by a warm pair of lips that suck the life out of him. The punishment palms cradle the swell of his bottom, granting Chan full control of the tempo. It’s ecstasy interspersed with tenderness. 

Voice waning, his screams grow muted as Mingyu’s throbbing cock fires straight into his sweet spot. His sweat applies another layer of lubricant around his stimulated nubs, pointedly rubbing against the older. And he longs, yearns even, for his release. He knows he’s nearing the climax when he begins growing more sporadic, beats uneven and tears running down his cheeks. The saliva that carelessly pours out is his gustatory indicator, his breathing way past uneven. 

But there’s really only so much energy he can muster up after two successive nuts, his known limit. Mingyu must realize this too, if the added support for the younger’s sloppy flicks were any indication.

“I-I’m close, clo-close…” Chan trails off, a weary traveler.

“Tired, baby?” The dancer nods meekly as the rapper breaks an indulgent smile. “You were so enthusiastic earlier, going on and on about wanting to ride me until you couldn’t walk anymore. Where’s that Channie now?”

Chan whimpers, situating his head on the broad shoulder in front of him. “Your fault, hyung. T-too big. Beyond any calculation and all my expectations.” Mingyu grows inside him with a huff. The younger grins, knowing that, like his small hands, his words also know exactly what to do. “I’ll do be-better next time, hyung. Will make you cum twice untouched.”

“Twice?” The younger nods without hesitation. “You’ve always been ambitious. That’s one of the reasons why I love you so much.” Chan clenches as a mechanical blush and the older almost loses it right then and there. “Well, I will tell you now that I’m ecstatic about that prospect. For now, how about we focus on this predicament? Legs around my waist.”

Confusion would be the official word of the evening (well, that and ‘vanilla,’ the actual word of the day, though nothing about humping his rocks off and calling Mingyu an inappropriate familial name was very vanilla) because confusion is how he wonders how, in one moment, he’s atop Mingyu and, in the next, he’s _along_ Mingyu, his back pressed against the wooden dresser and neck craning with a muffled gasp.

The change of setting is an entire contradiction. The cool of the wood to the fever of his skin, the tough bark from the soft sheets. Yet, Chan can hardly bring himself to care. Their lips clash and he’s instantly rendered breathless, the older kissing and laving on the expanse of his neck.

Chan hangs on for his life, looping his spaghetti noodle arms around the older’s neck and mouthing the tan skin within reach in reciprocation. Mingyu makes quick work of subduing the other’s knots, ramming into him over and over, loosening his loops. The drag is divine and the friction against his throbbing cock sets off a fire in his extremities. 

“Mingyu hyung! More, more, mo-more! So, so full…”

“Is this how you wanted it, baby? Did you imagine your hyung fucking you like this, so needy for his dick?”

“Yes, yes, _yes_!” he screams, back arching from the stimulation.

Mingyu smirks, so full of himself and filling Chan further as he elongates. “Feel yourself get what you wish for, baby.”

The angle has the older pinning his prostate every time without fail, the younger’s delighted moans slipping out. Sweat clouds his vision and his dick is on fire, hard-pressed on the washboard in front of him. Mingyu motions for him to surrender his legs and, upon submission, brings them up until his knees brush against his sensitive nipples. Chan keens, mewling and pulling at the frayed ends Mingyu’s hair to contain himself. 

“You’re so flexible and pliant for me, so beautiful,” the rapper huffs, hips flicking up languidly. “I could fuck you all the time, baby. Anytime and anywhere. I don’t think I can stop myself if it feels this warm and tight.”

The younger manages rapid-fire nods, blushing at the praise. His undivided attention is on his impending climax, wanting to delay it as much as he can to prolong the tumbling heat in his gut, the fizzle of fireworks in his heart. It doesn’t help that he has a direct view of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen right there in front of him, his asshole directly encasing his Eiffel Tower. Broad shoulders he’s supporting his weight with. Firm chest that pushes his knee further into his pebbled nubs. Supple skin that’s colored with marks, _his_ marks. Just looking at him, so handsome despite the sex that ruined his fluffy bedhead, is enough to entice Chan’s release.

Their fingers intertwine when the older notices his disoriented searching. A smile takes his lips at the consideration and he’s inspired to make the experience something the older will remember for a long time.

Chan tightens his sphincter and adds resistance, rocking his hips down against the northbound current. Mingyu hisses, tightening his grip and movements brewing volatilely.

“Shit, hyung loves you so much,” he grunts. “My baby who loves to hear me worship him. Going to eat every inch of your sexy body, Channie. You want that?”

“Y-yes, daddy!” He screams out, balanced on the tip of Mingyu’s penetration device that wrecks his wiring. “Want all your cum in me!”

“Fuck, baby, you really know how to play with my heartstrings. I’m not going to last long like this,” the rapper heaves, sweltering breath sending tingles down Chan’s neck. “How about you, baby? I thought you were close. Got stage fright?”

Normally, he’d be offended at the insinuation, but he’s not going to force an anti-boner so close to calcium white delivery. In lieu of that, he’s spurred on further, pulling the older closer to share their heat. “Harder, hyung! Mo-more, p-please,” Chan groans with ardor. “Wanna come with you, daddy.”

“You’re honestly going to kill me. Honest-to-goodness, swear-on-my-cock kill me,” Mingyu exhales, faceplanting on the younger’s shoulder blade. 

“ _Ah_! As long a-as I’m the one riding you when you do.”

The puppy reveals his lopsided grin, eyes softening and hips still undulating into the other. “Wasn’t dreaming of anyone else.”

Punishment palms squeeze his ass with unwavering valor, lips clashing into another messily yet sweetly. Mingyu groans into the kiss when Chan tightens every point of contact. Tiny mewls escape his lips, filling the air with more than just sweat and hormones. His thighs flex and clarify the blurred lines, tugging on the firm pectorals onto his burning testicles, toes curling with anticipation. The older pushes in deeper, hiking him up higher against the dresser from where he’s pushing down into adversity. Chan is bouncing off his cock, cruising on the shockwaves that climb at every slam of his abused nerves.

“Hyu-hyung,” he cries, erratically pulling at the other, wanting him close when he says, “I’m so, so close! I’m gonna come!” 

“Me too, sweetheart.” Mingyu’s hip’s move far more rapidly now, sliding in with ease. “Don’t hold back on me. I want to see everything you got.”

He sputters, a mix of moans and cries, both of similar origins. “I-I’m…”

“Go on. Come for me, beautiful,” the older demands, low and guttural to the core. “Show hyung how much your thirsty hole enjoyed riding my dick.”

Continuously stimulated, his prostate is purposefully stricken with one more forceful motion and it’s enough for him to come undone. Chan all but wails, coursing through the hardest orgasm out of the trio, constant pressure milking him out until his cum rolls down from his stomach. The luscious sensation has him clenching sporadically, clawing at the older to bring him closer to his boiling skin and his own edge. 

Mingyu pounds into his tight, tight heat as he releases with a primal roar, painting his walls with viscous cum. Blinding white flashes through his vision while the older eases through his release, the sheer volume enough to leak out of him just as he had always wanted. The rapper mumbles gentle praises into his ears, movements slowing, stilling, then ceasing.

The younger whines when Mingyu carefully pulls out, mourning the loss of a fallen soldier. The memory of an indulgent scoff followed by the older’s lips on his, muted pecks to the crease of his sated smile, is all that he can recall as he slowly slips from consciousness.

Exhaustion having overcome him, he suddenly awakes from what can only be described as another day with Kim Mingyu – accidental contact against unknowing surfaces.

“Sorry!”

His eyes adjust to a new brand of white, porcelain and serene. “Wha- where…?” Panicked, he clings onto the body lifting him up bridal style.

“Don’t worry, I got you, sweetheart,” the older chuckles, carding through his disheveled hair. “I didn’t want to wake you up from your little nap there, but we have to get you washed up first.”

“What happened?”

“You sort of passed out by the end of it,” Mingyu huffs, winded from sending Chan into the sex dimension. “You started mumbling about how full you felt, and I assumed you were talking about my… stuff, so I brought you here to the bathroom.” The rapper slowly lowers the loose-limbed maknae into the bathtub, careful and gentle. “And now, I’m going to draw you a bath.”

“We don’t need the play-by-play.” He tries not to break into an idiotic grin at the consideration but alas, his resolve can only take so much temptation when the rapper brushes errant strands from his eyes. “T-thank you, hyung,” he murmurs roughly, his throat calling his attention to its soreness.

Mingyu frowns at the sound, turning to run the tap. “You’re more than welcome, baby. Now, just sit here and wait for the water to rise. I’ll get you something for your voice.”

As soon as he gets up to leave, the younger’s panic skyrockets. “Wait, da- I mean, hyung! You’re still _naked_!”

The older looks over his shoulder from the doorframe, all chiseled and tan muscles flexing due to the angle. Chan’s mouth waters faster than the faucet. “Don’t worry. No one’s here but us, remember? Everyone went out with Jeonghan hyung to that night market in Namdaemun. Were you worried someone was going to see me?” Flashing his characteristic canines, an impish smirk comes out. “You don’t have to worry about that. I think exhibitionism is your thing, sweetheart,” Mingyu quips, winking before making his exit.

Chan blushes crimson up until his ears, suddenly highly interested in the water current.

A couple of inches of water and half a bottle of bath salts later, Mingyu returns, clad with a cup of aromatic Jasmine tea. “Here, something to loosen up your vocal cords.”

“Thank you again, hyung.” He takes a sip, instantly feeling the tension unravel. He tries not to dwell on how the older knows his favorite drink, but he stores that memory for a later time. For now, Chan sets the tea aside and motions for the other to join him.

“Sorry if it took a while. I changed the sheets and tidied up a bit in my room while the water boiled,” Mingyu recalls, slipping in behind the dancer. The water ricochets with the disposition, the waves pushing Chan into the older’s embrace. He doesn’t fight back. “Just had to make sure we have a clean bed to sleep in later.”

His heart jumps the entire hopscotch. “We?”

“Yeah, so that we don’t sleep on all the fun we had,” Mingyu confirms with a tender squeeze. There’s a subtle tremble in his baritone when he continues, “I mean, only if you want to.”

“I want to,” he supplies without missing a beat, his years of dancing translating to his eagerness to keep the older’s warmth next to him all the time. Chan melts into the embrace, head slotting perfectly on the crook of Mingyu’s shoulders. “I-I’d love that, daddy.”

The older groans behind him. “Don’t call me that now, Channie. I don’t want to suddenly prod you with my dick.”

It’s his turn to smirk, feeling coy. “Would that be so bad, da-“ 

Before he can finish the word, Mingyu claims his lips, inhaling the essence of the entendre. Comparatively, the pace is mellow, meant to learn the curves that comprise the swell of his lips. Yet his heart thunders in his chest, a hummingbird heartbeat. 

The older rewards him with two chaste pecks, one for each side of his pout, when they part for air. “You did so well in there, baby. But I need to know; how are you feeling now?”

“I’m a bit sore from everything, but I guess I had that coming for me,” he shrugs and reaches to shut the faucet, already sensing his limp the following morning when a numb pain jolts through his body.

“I didn’t push you too hard, did I?” The rapper scans his body with a trepid hand, inspecting the places most likely affected.

Chan giggles and claims the roaming hand, setting up camp by lacing their fingers together. “I’m fine, hyung. I really liked it and you treated me well. Even though you were kind of a tease-“

“Hey!”

“-you made sure I enjoyed. And I did,” he assures, smiling.

“I’m glad you did,” Mingyu plants a kiss on his scalp, “because I did, too. How about here?” the older asks, poking his temple.

“What do you mean?” Chan tilts his head, brows furrowed.

“About earlier tonight, you know?” The older intertwines their arms and traps the younger in with a hug. “Weren’t you worried about how your new Danceology would turn out?”

“New Danceology?”

“Yeah, the one you showed me on your phone.” Sensing the dancer wasn’t catching on, he fills in the blanks. “You know, ‘Feeling Good?’ Is it still bothering you?”

Chan nearly gasps. “What? How do you-“

 _Oh_.

 _Right_.

That would explain why he’s still awake at this ungodly hour, why there’s a faint buzz in his system, why he has the hands of Korea’s sexiest man wrapped around his waist. Because rewind to not more than two hours ago, he was supposedly mourning over his newest Danceology release. 

A part of him had implanted his impending doom deep into his brain, so sure that it was the funeral of his passion project. Yet, after a meaningful soul searching, a heaping dose of dinosaur chicken nuggets, and what is definitively the greatest success in his gay life, that same part had dissolved into starlight. 

Because he knows that his Danceology series isn’t some one-hit wonder or a story on the decline. It’s his work of art, his own masterpiece, and it’s beautiful like him. Worrying himself to that pessimistic state, he’d failed to see that the most important opinion on his project is his own. And while he knows that the treacherous part of his ego won’t disappear at an instant, this refilled well of confidence is a start. Maybe what he needed was just the smallest bit of reassurance, a sprinkle of affirmation of his abilities. Something the rapper had brought in the truckloads. And, well…

Mingyu had quite literally _fucked_ the worry out of his system. Talk about a magical penis.

So, when Chan turns to look at the man of the hour, unknowingly spurring a million cogs in his heart when the same tender eyes stare at him with nothing but concern and certainty, he knows that, “I’ll be okay.”

And perhaps it’s the newfound connection they discovered tonight, or maybe the growing erection poking on the small of his back, but the older seems to understand his choice of verb tense. “Take all the time you need, baby. I’ll be here every step of the way. Wanna make sure you’re _feeling good_ , too.”

Chan groans, wounded. “You’re honestly awful at puns. Please leave the humor for another member.” 

“Aw, come on. You know you love it, Channie.”

“Maybe, I’ll think about it,” the younger shrugs, feeling coy. “If you keep fucking me like tonight, I’ll let you say all your horrible jokes for free.”

“Then I suppose I have a lifetime full of dad jokes ahead of me,” Mingyu muses with a smile.

 _Lifetime_. “That’s a whole lot of sex, hyung.”

The older arches a brow, smirk renewed. “Is that a problem, Channie? I didn’t hear you complaining about it earlier. If I recall correctly,” he clears his throat before continuing, “ _More, daddy, I want more! I want to feel so full_ -“

At last, Chan finally puts his kick to good use.

It’s a whole mess of a situation, water flying around with the commotion, the dancer’s leg strength against the rapper’s resolve to hold him down. But, somehow, their lips find their way back to one another as warmth emanates from more than just the hot bathwater, limbs tangled and determined to bring them closer and beyond their skin.

What a strange evening, he wonders.

Because, at about 3 AM, after an emotional rollercoaster ride, between the savory midnight snack and the fanciful reality of Mingyu’s soft lips on his, Chan decides that the nights before a Danceology officially drops might just be some of the best nights of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully that wasn't too bad... This was fic was super self-indulgent and a complete mess, but was very fun to write! Again, if this was really bad, please spam me on the comments and I'll gladly delete this horror. ≧ ﹏ ≦
> 
> Since you've had the time to spare to sin and to read this disaster fic, kindly spare some more time to stream [Dino's Danceology series](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLL8JuhSty3q7IArXQ9WEYAZXpcxkmCIj7)! We're currently trying to get 'Sucker' to 1 million views before Chan's birthday, so I hope you can spare some time to help the bestest boy achieve his first 1M for his amazing Danceology series! (✿◡‿◡)
> 
> UPDATE: 'Sucker' just hit 1M! Thank you to everyone who streamed and made this dream a reality! Let's continue to stream his Danceologies and achieve more milestones together. (≧∇≦)ﾉ
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!


End file.
